#and i always felt as though that's how the x-blade SHOULD be forged. that master xehanort went about it all wrong | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bitterbeanren · 9 months

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Fragments of the Past

Story under the cut. Story probably has spoilers-- don’t blame me if you read it and you don’t like! Like with most of my works, I wrote it for me... I’m sharing it because some people seem to actually like my work. Blablabla self-indulgent (even if it’s depressing) blablabla self ship blabla.

This is a piece set in the same universe as my other two Honkai Star Rail stories “Moments in Time” and “Taking His Time”. However, this one is going through the point of view of Reader’s father figure. It won’t really make sense if you haven’t read “Moments in Time” but you really do not need to read “Taking His Time” for this one.

Pairing: Hints of Jing Yuan x AFAB nonbinary reader. Maybe even some possible more than friendships between their dad and a couple of other characters. wink wonk.

Author’s continued note: I’m going by the belief that Blade is Yingxing. Is he actually? I dunno. But I’m sticking with it. If you read my previous stories, that’s reader’s father figure.

I wanted to play with multiple things in this one-- spacing, the differences between long-lived and short-lived species, etc. Memory loss and pain and losing a family that you found. Oh, Kafka’s in this.

~*~

His eyes open.

~*~

“Master Yingxing, look what I made!”

“Wait up, Master! I’m not as fast as you!”

“You’re going to visit the swordmaster?! Can I come, please?!”

“I’m going to be just as skilled as you, one day!”

“The Imbibitor Lunae looks so pretty… I should call him by name? Because he acts funny when you do? Mister Dan Feng… Mm, got it.”

“Hey, Master? I’m… I don’t really feel like I’m a girl. Can you… stop calling me one, please?”

“Wow, Master Yingxing! That spear’s for Mister Dan Feng, right? Can I name it?!”

“Do you think that this design would work?”

“I’m not a kid anymore, Dad!”

“Um, uh… Master Yingxing? Can I talk to you about something?”

“I… know you aren’t really my dad, but… you’re the closest thing I have to one.”

“If it’s alright with you… can I call you ‘Dad’ from now on?”

“Dad, Dad! Did you have a good birthday?”

“Yay! Mister Dan Feng is coming by to visit today?! I’ll make some snacks! Should I set up the tea table under the tree in the courtyard?”

“No, Dad. I’m not going to switch from swordsmithing to accessory making. That one I made for you took forever!”

“I wish… nevermind. Don’t worry about it, Dad.”

“You’re going to visit Dan Feng today? Okay! Be safe, I’ll take good care of the forge!”

~*~

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I’m going to miss him now. It’s the same as if you were gone, but he… I don’t want him to be gone. Dan Feng matters to me too!”

“No more secrets, okay? We’re supposed to be a team— we’re supposed to be family.”

“Thanks for sticking by me, Dad.”

~*~

“Dad…!”

“…Dad?”

“You don’t… remember me anymore, do you?”

“Thank you for training me… for teaching me how to be a swordsmith. Thank you for making me my first blade. Helping me forge my own. Thank you for always being there for me and letting me be a part of your family. You always made me feel like I had somewhere where I belonged. Even though we weren’t even related by blood… Dad… I’m so sorry I wish I could help you but I can’t because I’m not good enough, not strong enough… I wasn’t ever able make you something that could actually be useful to you.”

“I’ll miss you, I’ll miss you. I love you so much, Dad.”

“Goodbye.”

~*~

His eyes open. Again. The monster inside him growls. You were not to pay the price. Only they knew. Imbibitor Lunae. The Swordmaster. The Swordmaster’s Apprentice.

~*~

He blinks and you’re standing in front of him, practically bouncing on your feet. You’re not even a teenager, yet. Just a little bundle of energy.

“Can I go too, Master?! I want to play with Jing Yuan again!”

Yingxing smiles down at you, ruffling your hair. You’d only met the boy once... A month ago. And all of a sudden you couldn’t stop asking about him. It felt like it came out nowhere, but the Forge Master knew that this was just how long-lived species were. They aged so… slowly, and yet so quickly all at once. Many of them could go months or even years without contacting someone, then start talking about them like they’d just seen them the day before. Then physically, many of them aged much like a short-lived species… at least until they hit young adulthood. You would probably continue to act like a bit of a child for the next century before you mentally matured. Perhaps that was why he easily fell into the role of a parent to you rather than a mentor.

“Fine, I’ll tell Jingliu that I need to discuss supplies for the Cloud Knights… that should allow you and your friend to have a valid excuse to not be with us.”

“Yay! Thanks, Master!”

You’re excitable, cute, and smart. He can’t help but look at you like you’re his kid. He knows Jingliu doesn’t feel the same about her apprentice… still, Yingxing can tell that Jing Yuan is basically being raised by her. Jingliu has existed for hundreds of years already, but for Jing Yuan, especially in a couple of years, learning from Jingliu would have been a good chunk of the boy’s life. The reason why the woman had grown attached to Yingxing but not Jing Yuan… was because she had to hold on to Yingxing as soon as possible because soon, for her, he’d be gone.

For him, a hundred years was practically a lifetime. To them, it was a blink of an eye.

For you, the kid with a toothy smile that made the artificial sun pale in comparison, every year with Yingxing was a huge part of your currently short life.

~*~

“Dad, I’m off to visit Yuan. I’ll be back by dinner!”

It’s after you start to call him Dad that he starts looking into becoming long-lived himself. Jingliu knows that it’s what Dan Feng and him meet up to discuss and research— once, she had dropped by unannounced, took one look at the books on Yingxing’s desk, and promptly acted like she saw nothing. When Jing Yuan later finds out what they’re planning, Liu swears Jing Yuan to secrecy. If Dan Feng and Yingxing are caught… neither the swordmaster or her protege know anything. Baiheng could never know and you could never know. This is the choice that the three of them make.

None of Yingxing’s long-lived friends say it, but they want him around for as long as possible. It’s selfish— all of them want more time. The ones who live for centuries want more time with the one who’ll only live for one.

~*~

“Look! I designed some new armor for Yuan… do you think he’ll like it? Pfft, the guan dao you made him is way better than anything I could make. Plus… this’ll protect him when he’s in battle. Oh, I know! I should make some armor for you, too!”

Your smile is still so bright. Yingxing wants you to be able to smile like that forever.

~*~

Sometimes, Jing Yuan looks at Yingxing like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. The boy knows better than the rest of them— no matter what, this will not end well. No matter what, you will end up hurt.

But he never says anything. Never does anything. Jing Yuan stays quiet, waiting for you to realize things yourself. All that boy seems to do is wait for you to figure out things that he’s already realized himself-- be it the research that Yingxing and Dan Feng are doing, or Jing Yuan’s love for you.

When Yingxing is gone, Jing Yuan will be the one who protects you— the furnace master knows this. And, in the end, the ones who sinned were the adults, not the children. The adults knew what their choice was… and it was a selfish one.

That is why Jing Yuan is not one of the ones who should have to pay the price.

~*~

Jingliu is the one who kills him the first time. Blade remembers the feeling of steel rending his flesh, then stitching itself back together. That was the blade he had crafted for her, and here she was… using it against him.

He cackles. Oh, the irony.

~*~

He can remember the Imbibitor Lunae, turning to face him with a frown. “After this, we’re even.” But… this one was not the same. This one was younger.

…Why wasn’t he there for him, at the end? Dan Feng… he should have been there for him.

If the first wasn’t able to then… This one… this one must pay for the sins of his past.

~*~

Inside of Blade, the monster rages.

Inside of Yingxing, a blade is worn out and cracked.

~*~

When he closes his eyes, he can remember a sanctuary. Maple leaves and spider lilies with the sound of laughter behind him.

Who was it, again… who was laughing?

Who are you, again?

~*~

The laughter twists… It sounds like sobs. Blade can feel his flesh knitting itself back together.

His eyes open. Again. The monster inside him watches.

~*~

“I don’t know you,” he says. Jing Yuan stands by your side, a hand tightly clasped with yours. “...Consider it a good thing.”

You shake your head, no. The hand you don’t have held by the Luofu’s Arbiter General reaches up to touch a... floral accessory pinned to your tunic. You grin, and Blade feels something inside him shift. The grin seems familiar, and yet... it feels wrong. “It’s okay if you don’t remember. I remember.”

Jing Yuan keeps his eyes on you. Blade doesn’t quite understand why the white-haired man is showing his weakness so carelessly. You let go of Jing Yuan’s hand, unpin the accessory from your tunic and approach him without fear, holding it out to him. Ah. A... hair stick. It’s made of steel, and in good condition from what he can see. You must be a talented artisan.

“Take it,” you tell him, eyes crinkling at the corners. For a brief moment, Blade can’t help but think that all of this feels so familiar. “It’s yours.”

Blade glances at the woman next to him. Her purple-pink eyes look sad, as though she knows something that Blade does not. “Accept it, Bladie.”

“...Fine,” he mutters, taking the hair stick from you. The moment he does, you beam at him brilliantly before turning your attention to Kafka. Blade is momentarily stunned by the sight.

“Thank you for taking care of him, Miss Kafka,” you say to his fellow Stellaron Hunter, bowing your head in respect. “And thank you for helping arrange this meeting. I really do appreciate it.”

“Anytime, kid.”

You laugh. “I haven’t been a kid in a long time.”

“And look what my kid made me! Aren’t they beautiful?”

Kafka holds the mara’s strings while Blade holds his gift, and for a moment, Yingxing is at peace. Then, it’s gone, and Blade watches you as you leave with Jing Yuan, smiling at the Stellaron Hunters over your shoulder.

Seeing your smile, kind… yet sad for no reason as far as Blade knows, makes him feel uneasy.

Blade wishes he could remember you.

#hsr writing #hsr spoilers #self indulgent fanfic #self ship #sad fic #at least in my opinion

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xionandpluto14 · 2 years

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Destinies Intertwined (a Riku x Oc Fanfic)

-----

Chapter twenty-two: Thinking Of Her

"About a year ago..." Riku began. "I opened the Door to Darkness, and stepped through it to the outside world. I teamed up with Maleficent, because I thought it would help save Kairi. But I was wrong, and became possessed by Ansem. Me and Sora fought, and I lost, but he saved me. After that, Mickey and I had to stay behind in the realm of darkness when we closed the door. A year later, Sora, Kairi, and I reunited and defeated Xemnas, and came back to the islands. When Sora got a letter from Mickey, we came back. He and I took the Mark of Mastery exam, where we learned of Xehanort's plan: make seven lights and thirteen darknesses clash, in order to forge the X-Blade. And..."

"Terra was being controlled by Master Xehanort," Damon finished, "But what about Aqua and Ven?"

"Aqua was trapped in the realm of darkness, and Ven slept for eleven years while his heart healed inside Sora's."

"By the way," said Rachel, "how long have we been gone?"

"A few days. I was..."

"You should've seen him." said Sora.

"No, she shouldn't have," Riku interjected, "I've been a mess without you here. But Sora's stupid face cheered me up. It always does."

Sora grinned and put his hands behind his head, swaying left and right. Once everyone got caught up, they headed home, except for Rachel, who was staring out at the ocean... and Riku, who watched her from a short distance.

Why couldn't he tell her? He just couldn't work up the courage to say it. That the days without her felt likes months, the weeks without her felt like years. He wanted to talk to her about it, except every time he talked to her about anything-- anytime he saw the sparkle in her eyes, his mind would start spiraling out of control and he'd fumble his words and say something embarrassing.

It was frustrating. All he wanted was to know if she felt the same way he did.

Sora waved a hand in front of Riku's face. "Hellooo?" he called, "anyone home?"

"Huh?"

"You've got that starry-eyed look again. The one you always get when you look at her." Sora told him.

"I-I'm not... starry-eyed," Riku protested, feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment and something else as he thought of Rachel again, "...am I?"

"Were you thinking about her again?" his best friend asked, though this time it seemed a question of understanding, not teasing.

"Yeah... Thing is, she's literally a princess... and I'm... the boy that can't even bring up a casual conversation with her. So how do I tell her...?"

Riku sighed and walked up next to the girl.

"I wanted to thank you," she said, "for, you know, getting us out of there."

"Sure." He opened his mouth, wanting to tell her everything he'd been thinking moments before, but thought better of it. "...we should get to our mission." he said quietly.

"Yeah."

The trio went off to the Keyblade Graveyard, and Rachel, startled by the Heartless, grabbed Riku's hand with a gasp.

"Relax." He said with a sympathetic smile, "that's Behemoth. All you have to do is go for its horn, then the rest is easy. C'mon, it'll be fun. Watch."

Riku jumped onto its back, and clung to its neck with one arm, while bashing its horn with the other. He managed to stun it, so Rachel and Mickey defeated it while its head was lowered. Riku fell off of its back, landing on his own.

"See...?" He said, his chest falling and rising as he panted heavily, "What'd I... What'd I tell ya? Fun... right? Piece of... cake." Rachel and Mickey looked concerned, but he reassured them, "Ahh, I'm... I'm okay... Clinging... to the back of... of an angry Behemoth... isn't easy... that's all. But I'm... fine."

They all laughed for no real reason after a moment.

"That was exhilarating." Rachel murmured as Riku sat up, wiping his brow. She handed him a water bottle.

"Thanks. And I told you it'd be fun." He stood up, "Let's head back."

Riku, Rachel, and Mickey ate their ice cream in a different spot this time as they watched the sunset. Mickey leaned on the Paopu tree, while Rachel and Riku sat leaning against it.

The king mentally noted how much the two had grown on each other; Riku had an arm wrapped around the girl, who was leaning on him. They soon finished their ice cream, and Mickey got up to leave, but saw that his friends were sound asleep, Rachel's head rested on Riku's shoulder, Riku's head rested on hers as the stars came out and Mickey headed home.

#destinies intertwined #riku x oc #kh fanfic #thinking of her #chapter twenty-two

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tailorvizsla · 4 years

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A Proper Mandalorian Courtship - Chapter 1

Title: The Armorer and an Introduction Word Count: ~2350 Pairing: Paz x Reader Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Cursing, canon-typical violence, crack humor that’s also serious Summary:

Mandalorian courtship is very simple: declare your interest in someone, spend time together if they reciprocate, and get married after a year or so. Getting married is even easier – simply swap the vows and announce it a few days later to the Tribe so you can all celebrate the happy news. Then spend the next few months fending off the nosy Elders (who all want to know when they can expect to hear more little feet on the ground). At the end of it all, Mandalorians court the same way the rest of the galaxy does.

Except for Paz Vizla. Despite his Traditionalist background, he goes about this courtship and marriage business in a very nontraditional way...a very, very, very nontraditional way. This can also be found at AO3. Chapters: 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

📚 My Master List 📚 Author’s Notes:

This is my first attempt at a multi-chapter story in a very long time.

I’ve been working on this since February. It’s been finished for a few weeks now, but I’ve been procrastinating in posting because I have had such a hard time justifying why Paz behaves the way he does even though we only see him for like 3 seconds in the series. I’m not sure if anyone else does this, but I like having a reason to write a story, even if it’s just to get the fluff out. For this, I wanted to flesh out Paz’s character for future works, but I have had such a hard time figuring out the words for it that I just...didn’t post. It felt wrong to continue forward without being able to explain to myself why he does what he does. Something that @plexflexico said in one of their responses to a review I left resonated with me and finally inspired me to post this publicly.

“Paz might have had less than a minute of screen time, but that time was VERY enlightening because both scenes were at moments of great tension and high emotion. I felt that any man who could succinctly put his people’s plight into words, and was so angry over this betrayal by someone who should have known better that there was no way this was simply a brute. This is a man who thinks and feels, deeply.”

This. This is exactly what I couldn’t find the words for. This, to me, is Paz Vizla. I have seen stories/HCs that portray him as a brute in an attempt to show him as a strong, confident, and masculine character. I am not fond of that portrayal because it lacks depth. I don't see that from a man whose culture embraces competency and skill before gender or sex. For those of you who have not read Asterism, go do it now, I promise you will love every single word. @plexflexico perfectly captures every emotion and thought of each scene just perfectly. This is Grade Amazing Super Plus Rank writing and Plex deserves an award for their work. And also for the inspiration because her Paz is the man everyone who wants a man deserves to have in their life.

The Foundry is the most sacred place for any Tribe blessed enough to have one of its own. It is the physical manifestation of the Resol'nare: education and armor, self-defense, the tribe, the language, and the leader. Here, children and new recruits receive their first set of beskar'gam and swear their oaths to follow the path, making the Foundry the spiritual birthplace of every member of the Tribe.

At night, when the work is finished, and the flames are dimmed, the young and old gather within so they may learn from and educate one another. Most importantly, this is where most individuals begin their first lessons in Mando'a, under the guidance of the Elders. The foundry is where the armaments are made and dispensed for the protection of each person and the Tribe as a whole. When a hunter returns with their offerings, they return to the Foundry, and disperse it to those who depend upon them for sustenance and care. Finally, the Foundry serves as a place for the leadership to gather.

Armorer has had the distinct honor and privilege of being both armorer and leader to her people for many years, though she is now only the armorer for the tribe. Upon joining with tribe Marell, she relinquished her role as the Alor. However, the respect and authority she commands is not diminished in any capacity. Should Alor Dezha not be available to decide on a course of action, the Tribe will come to her, and her decision will be both supported and respected. Dezha respects her a great deal, and he will often seek her opinion if his path is unclear. Despite the differences in their interpretations of the Oath, they have come to live in harmony with one another. They strengthen what is weak in each other, and that is how it should be in a flourishing Tribe.

Tonight, she once more has the honor of being part of a marriage ceremony. Lifting her heavy hammer, Armorer brings it down onto the glowing ingot of metal, watching as it flattens and spreads under her blow. She continues to strike the metal with slow, methodical precision until it reaches the proper thickness. Then the Armorer takes it back to the flame, where she allows it to glow blazing white. It only takes a few moments, and she returns it to the anvil. The steady clang clang of her hammer is punctuated only by the occasional trip to the flames.

The union of two Mandalorians in marriage is – and always has been – a joyous occasion, for that union brings forth stability for the children and the Tribe. Traditionally, the parents take turns hunting, or if the Tribe has the numbers, both parents will hunt together, and leave their children in the care of the rest of the family. Having that one trusted person, the one who knows their every strength and weakness by their side, leads to success, both in the field and at home.

She pauses once more to check the ingot. When she sees it is properly folded, she divides it in half, and begins to form each blade precisely with her smaller hammer. Two Mandalorians, forged into one soul and body by marriage, whether they are together, or they are apart. Two blades, made from a single piece of steel, to symbolize that union. When they are formed to her satisfaction, she takes the blades to the oil vat and quenches them, a satisfying hiss escaping the bubbling liquid.

Then she returns to the forge, narrowing one of the flames to begin the differential tempering process. Here, the tang and the edges of the blades will be hardened to resist shattering, yet the spines will remain flexible, so that they may flex as needed. Once joined, the couple hardens themselves to outsiders; instead, they will turn their affection and respect inward, so they may grow together. Where one is brittle, the other is flexible, and together, they become stronger than they would be individually. She withdraws the first blade from the flame just as the pale amber color creeps to the edges of the blade and plunges it directly into the water bath to cool.

It takes hours to sharpen the ceremonial blades on the grinding belts, but she works steadily and carefully, honing the edges with precision. The hilts are left bare; they will be wrapped by the parties entering the marriage. When they speak their vows, they will exchange blades, so they may carry a piece of the other with them when they are physically parted. She nestles the blades into separate boxes lined with soft fabric. When she delivers the blades tonight, the newlyweds will handle the rest on their own. Armorer lowers the heat of the flame before she returns to her quarters. There she draws the curtain across her living space. Exhaling, she takes a seat at her low table with a pot of hot tea to await being summoned by the Elders to acknowledge the vows. Her shoulders are tense and tight. It is a good sign of hard work.

It has been many years since she has witnessed a proper Mandalorian courtship unfold and blossom into marriage. The Armorer has known from the start that Paz would be the one to fully embrace the traditional ways. Now, he has chosen to make himself an example to the younger Mandalorians and enter the bonds of matrimony. Her heart swells with pride as she imagines the future progeny they will gift to the Tribe, whether they are born or found. However, she takes the time to close her eyes and pray to the spirits. The newlyweds will need guidance.

Hopefully, the wedding night will not result in nearly as much structural damage as the courtship had.

The first time Paz ever laid eyes upon you was shortly after the Armorer had finished negotiations to join with yours. It took nearly three weeks of negotiations, but your Tribe had ultimately yielded. No sane alor would turn away a dozen Hunters and their children, anyway. Paz admits that he did not find you all that impressive at first. You were – and still are - pretty average. Your armor at the time consisted of a bes’kar helmet and a steel chestplate that looked like the Armorer’s. Everything else was made of leather.

Tradesperson, he thought to himself, and he put you out of his mind.

As time went on, Paz came to like you, and even enjoy spending a few minutes with you here and there as his duties allowed. Even though you openly admitted that were an average warrior (at best), you did your job freakishly well. You had made your desire for a large family vocal, and that, combined with your skills, had caught the attention of several Hunters visiting to deliver the latest news. According to the Elders, the offers of marriage had come flooding in the instant you completed your first hunt, even though you hadn’t completed it until your twenty-third birthday.

When the average Mandalorian completed their first hunt by their nineteenth.

And Paz completed his on his seventeenth.

It didn’t take long for him to understand how you earned the loving-yet-frighteningly-accurate nickname shu’shika from the Tribe – you truly are a tiny disaster. You are dearly loved by your Tribe, but there is a tendency for things to break while you are around.

You are stubborn to a fault. That Paz can deal with. Over the past thirty or so years, he has had plenty of practice to out-stubborn his subordinates, and he always wins. The same holds true with his bounties. With you? There have been a few situations where he has come dangerously close to cracking and losing his temper. It is only your terrible self-defense skills and his affection for you that keep him from simply putting you in a headlock until you submit.

Paz sometimes wonders if you provoke him on purpose because you know he will not throw fists with someone who lacks proper training. He takes no pleasure in winning a fight if it was never a true fight to begin with.

Far too often, you get mouthy with him, to the point where he sometimes wants to grab you around the waist and launch you straight into the lake for being such a brat. You are never truly disrespectful, but you have no problem telling him what you think. Even when he does not ask for your opinion. He does, however, appreciate your honesty with him, since others are usually too intimidated by him to be as direct as you.

You’re kriffing fearless, to the point of recklessness. His threats to launch you into the lake have gone from true threats to playful teasing, and it always earns a laugh from you.

Your forgetfulness…it is truly obnoxious. At this point, he has stopped reminding you to pick up your shit. He has grown used to simply picking up your things off the floor (or the couch, or the tables, or the showers), stuffing them in a bag, and dumping it all on your table in the workshop. Just like everyone else in the Tribe does for you. Or, if he wants to see you, he will pocket your datapad until you come wandering into the common areas, and hand it over without a word. It never ceases to amaze you that Paz somehow seems to know exactly what you are looking for.

Paz has no doubts that if you ever set your bucket down, you will lose it. He kind of finds it endearing. But only from you. He has no problems holding armor, weapons, or personal property for ransom if some idiot leaves it unattended.

If there is even a single power cable in a wide-open room, you will invariably find it and trip over it. Stairs have to be clearly marked with vibrant tape to remind you of their existence even though they’ve been there for ten kriffing years. Your navigational skills are nonexistent. It is all Paz can do to refrain from simply attaching a tracker to your backside to keep you from getting lost whenever someone takes you to the market.

The first time he had taken you to the market, he lost you within forty-eight seconds. He panicked the entire time he looked for you. Fortunately, he found you trying to dig enough money out of your bag to buy some ice cream, with no regards as to how you were going to eat the kriffing ice cream with a damn bucket on your head.

Sometimes, Paz feels like his relationship with you is going to give him a full head of grey hair before his fiftieth birthday. But he thinks you are the most beautiful disaster he has ever seen in his life.

You get his dumb jokes and laugh at his silly puns. You let him steal the end pieces of the bread when you bake. You try so damn hard to improve your hand-to-hand combat skills, even when Doctor Shen threatens to tie you to a bed to keep you from hurting yourself. You turn to him first when you want to learn a new technique. You play hunters-and-prey with the children for hours, like you don’t care that the others are grumbling about you spoiling the kids. You listen to him ramble about whatever random topic he has picked up that week, and while you may not know anything about it, you ask questions and take the time to learn more about what makes him happy. You even offer to share your tiingilar with him, even when you only have a quarter ration of it.

He has spent most of his forty-four years alone in life. His eight-year relationship had ended exactly ten years ago when his partner chose to commit adultery. He was on the verge of proposing marriage when he caught them in his bed. Neither had been wearing their helmet. It was a privilege his partner had never granted him, even after nearly a decade together. After that gut-wrenching betrayal, something had shattered in him. Paz invested himself in his work fervently, his bitterness turning him away from the possibility of a long-term relationship. Now that he is older and wiser, he feels a sort of emptiness to his days. Like his successes mean nothing without having someone to share them with. He wants someone there to encourage and support him in his hunts. Someone who is not as cynical and burnt out from the constant threat of death and war. Someone who still has that shereshoya – that Mandalorian lust for each new day and every experience that it brings. That brightness in your soul draws him to you like a moth to the flame. It is your hidden gentility that has him so happily trapped in your orbit.

He wants to make you strong where you are weak.

He wants you to make him strong where he is weak.

Seeing you waiting for him at the shooting range brings a spring to his step. Hearing your laughter at one of his awful jokes makes him glad he wears a helmet so no one can see the ridiculous grin on his face. Smelling the sweet, flowery soap that you use makes his knees go all wobbly, though he’s not sure if it’s from affection or just from age. Just feeling your hand brush up against his makes him turn into a sweaty, flushed mess.

Paz Vizla feels like he’s strapped to the wing of a TIE fighter spinning out of control as it plummets to the ground below, or something like a fully-grown rath’tar has wrapped itself around his heart to squeeze. His belly is jam-packed with spice-crazed minochs and his heart is pounding wildly. When he thinks about kissing you one day, maybe just gently pressing his helmet against yours, his heart gets so full he can barely breathe.

You make him Feel Things he has never felt before.

Paz Vizla turns into a hot kriffing mess under his armor when he is around you, and he wants off this malfunctioning jetpack.

Feel free to leave comments, concerns, or critiques. I love all sorts of feedback <3

#star wars #the mandalorian #paz vizla #paz vizla x reader #paz vizsla x reader #romance #humor #the armorer #din djarin #original characters #tailor's world #tv: the mandalorian #paz vizsla x f!reader #paz vizla x f!reader #tailor writes #series: a proper mandalorian courtship

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xbellaxcarolinax · 4 years

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Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 17- Goddess

Pairing: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 5586

Warnings: Slight mature content, nothing major

AN: Ya’ll have no idea how much I love this GIF of Ivar. His eye roll is literally what I imagine him doing all the time.

16- Free

...

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Steady your stance.

Pull the string.

Release the arrow.

It was a lot harder than Artemis anticipated.

She missed her target, a small, dark rabbit that fled the moment the arrow pierced into the damp earth beside it.

She sucks her teeth.

"Mm, that was better, but you still lack the patience." Ivar says to her with a chuckle. To him it was second nature, but watching Artemis with a bow was like watching a babe attempting to walk.

He sat as comfortably as he could on a chair brought by one of his many other thralls, and he watched as Artemis lowered her bow in defeat. It amused him to see her strive for perfection. It reminded him of himself when he was a child and still learning the ways of archery.

At his heels were his obedient elkhounds brought with him from Norway, eager to run wild and hunt even in the early summer heat. They were the same ones Ivar threatened her with, but that was neither here nor there.

He held one of them tightly in place with a leather strap, the other 3 pulling hard against a male thralls grip. They were beautiful things, large, with cream and black fur and large dark eyes. The hounds were adorable at first glance, but they were fierce, destroying anything in their path with ease if Ivar commanded them to.

Ivar snapped his fingers, and the wolf like dogs immediately ceased their whinning, staring up at their master with expecting eyes.

"Go." He commands, both he and the thrall letting go of the leather, the hounds instantly fled into the trees. All 4 returned with a dead rabbit in its mouth in a matter of minutes, surrounding their masters feet.

"Your hounds are show offs." Artemis pouts while Ivar grins, giving his beasts meat treats as the thrall collects the rabbits.

"Who else is to provide our dinner if you can't manage to shoot anything?" He says with a tired chuckle. His features betrayed him, revealing his discomfort from the usual pain that inflicted him daily, but it passed just as quickly as it came. He extended his arm out, palm open as an invitation for Artemis to hand over the bow.

Once securely in his hand, Ivar places his crutch to the side. He looks about slowly, listening to the sounds of the forest with his blue eyes closed and his lashes dusting over his cheekbones. Moments like these were the ones that Artemis admired the most, quickly scanning her eyes over him.

Ivar was no master of blades, but he was extremely skilled with a bow, and he almost never missed his target, Artemis had witnessed it many times when he use to train with his brothers.

Suddenly his piercing eyes fluttered open, and he silently motioned for Artemis to hand him an arrow from her quiver.

"Wha-"

"Shh."

He quickly reprimands her, putting a finger over his lips before placing the arrow in its place and stretching back the bow string as far as he could, aiming the sharp arrow towards the bright green tree tops. He stared up toward the skies for a moment in comfortable silence. Artemis would have spoken again if it weren't for the whizzing of the arrow soaring through the air at a raging velocity.

The tree tops shook a bit, and a squeal emitted from its depths before a dark shadow descended from above, falling at the foot of the large tree trunk. How Ivar had the ability to shoot down a squirrel from such a distance was beyond her, but most impressive nonetheless.

"Did you not mention your patron goddess was a huntress?" He asks with a smirk, and Artemis rolls her eyes with a snort.

"I am named after a goddess, but it does not mean I am one." Ivar shrugs, handing her back the bow.

"I like to think you are." He says, turning his blue gaze towards the familiar brown.

Artemis blinks, only able to conjure up a shy smile as she felt her cheeks burn. A strange feeling began to flutter in her lower abdomine. It was a strange feeling indeed, but she liked it, the fluttering intensifying when he bites his lips in apprehension.

"And what have you done to elicit such flattery from my brother?" Both too distracted with each other, they failed to noticed Hvitserk watching their scene, smirking at them in the way all the brother's

It was borderline infuriating.

"Shut up, Hvitserk." Ivar says with a growl, far less malicious than he wanted. He watches his hounds charge from sniffing at the green pastures to leaping towards his older brother in excitement.

"Forgive me for interrupting," Hvitserk laughs, trying to individually caress eat dog that pounced up his legs, "But the bishop has come to a decision. He wishes to speak with you."

Ivar hums nodding his head as he grabs his crutch, "Very well. Perhaps we shall gain a warrior on our side."

"Why do you wish for the bishop to fight for you?" Artemis asks quietly, cocking her head to the side in curiosity, "I thought you hated Christian's?"

"I thought so too." Hvitserk agrees, the smirk never leaving his lips.

"I suppose there are a few that aren't so bad." Ivar speaks just as quietly, his penetrating gaze lingering on her for another moment before motioning with his hands for the party to head back into the city.

...

The bishop, after being humiliated in the streets of York by the foreigners, proved himself, killing a taunting man before Ivar's very eyes and swearing allegiance to him. To sink a knife into another man's flesh and ending his life was enough to ignite Ivar, it could be seen in the way his eyes glowed.

Plans were set in motion once again, this time with King Harald Finehair, who had been a head strong ally with them thus far. The viking settlement in York would be overseen by one of Ivar's men now that the king of Northumbria was eliminated and the kingdom of Wessex weakend tremendously. Many who came with the Ragnarson's decided to stay in the Yorkish settlement, and that included Arvid and Alfhild. Artemis didn't know whether it was their decision or Ivar's, but she supposed it was for the best.

Alfhild was pregnant, perhaps a sign of their gods that their growing family should remain on English soil until their call back to Kattegat would come.

She was excited as any future mother would, rubbing her still flat belly in affection for her child to be. Arvid was pleased, though not as much as a man who truly loves his wife. There was a pride in knowing that a man could impregnate his woman, but if he could not love her, then what was the point? Arranged marriages usually ended in this way, loveless and disconnected, but it was clear Alfhild held much love for her husband who was as stubborn as mule. Arvid was a good man, but like most men, he failed in the arts of love.

The news spread rather quickly: Ivar the Boneless's slave was a woman whose life was now her own to command.

A few men saw it as an advantage to steer their eyes away from their duties. Admirers would visit to forge for idle talk, much to Artemis's annoyance, and Arvid's. Usually he'd send them away with a mouthful of curses.

Ivar remained good spirited. The leader of the largest army known to man spent whatever free time he had giving her archery lessons on days where he had the most time to spare. Normally any great leader would strain their minds on more pressing matters, but Ivar always seemed to make the time for her. She never asked for it, but she was starting to enjoy him company.

Artemis supposed life was bearable, for now. Ivar treated her well as he said he would, with a decent space in the church of her own, and she had access to as much food as she could want. After supper, she'd collect as much as she could, offering bread and fruit to the other thralls who were in far worse conditions than she’d ever been. It was the least she could do.

She spends her days in the forge with the other smith's, repairing weapons and restoring the ships, replacing the large iron nails holding the thick wood together. Her nights were held under candle light, mending and creating new chainmail.

Sometimes, her mind wandered off to her father, and whenever it did, she'd have to pause to gather herself before she could burst into tears.

The only thing she could hope for was for the dreadful weather to clear.

...

The weather never did clear.

The rains of York bombarded them. Each day the clouds grew darker and closer, bringing with them the harsh rains that soaked them to the bone. It worried some if they were to travel in a few days time in such conditions, but the men worked through it, preparing their supplies for their journey back to the north.

Ivar managed to crack the iron on the side of his brace, and Artemis spent her morning welding the split metal back together. After wiping her hands on a wet cloth, she quickly puts her cloak on with the hood over her face, running through the showers and into the church.

Inside was mostly vacant, save for a few guards that roamed about with ale in their hands as their pass time. Their eyes lingered on her for a moment, but she learned to ignore it.

The bishop sat alone with a dreary look on his face as he was clearly annoyed with the intoxicated guards. He was seated among the many rows of benches placed within, his chained hands set atop the wooden table top with a plate in between of bread and cheese.

He greets her with a nod of his head. His dirty hands worked to rip apart bread, popping them in his mouth and chewing the pieces unbecomingly. She returns the greeting, quickly making her way to Ivar's chamber.

"You will not like what you see." The bishop's smile was hidden behind a crust of bread. Her obvious confusion amused him.

"What?"

Heahmund chuckles in the way that older men do, deep and guttural. He shakes his head, ripping another piece of bread.

"I've heard many rumors of the boneless leader and his...condition," He begins, watching Artemis's mouth twitch at the corners, "Well, nevermind. I suppose you will see soon enough." Annoyed with his chatter, she stomps over to the chamber, finding the door slightly ajar.

She hesitates, before stepping in.

"Prince Ivar, I've repaired your braces as reque-" She stops, eyes wide at the scene before her. The blonde, Freydis, was completely naked and looming over a shirtless Ivar with a predatory smile. She was in the middle of kneeling, before both look towards the intrusion.

His fingers paused their skimming over the nakedness of her side, and Artemis thought it would be in her best interests to leave such an intimate sight, yet she found herself momentarily frozen in place.

"Gods, Artemis, have you no regard for privacy?" Ivar reacts quickly, pushing Freydis away roughly as he eyed Artemis with a look of...well, she didn't know what to call that look. It was strange, almost apologetic.

"F-forgive me." She stutters, placing the sack with his braces neatly into a corner before running off. She stops beside the bishop, placing a hand over her beating heart as she let's out a shuddering breath. The bishop raises a brow, watching her in amusement as she places her hands over her face in embarrassment.

"I warned you."

"Shut up." She snarls at him, dashing off into the rain without another word. The last thing she heard was Heahmund's laughter echoing after her.

She stomps into the forge, the heat of the fire mixed with rain made an uncomfortable combination of humidity and moisture, dampening her mood further.

"Did Ivar favor the repairs?" Arvid asks cautiously, raising at brow at how disheveled she looked. He was already sensing her foul mood. They were barely on speaking terms, treading softly around each other, but he knew when she was upset, and it was very obvious that she was now. He didn't want to leave her alone, but his duties were to help the other men load their wares onto the ships. He places his cloak about his shoulders, awaiting an answer.

"It was fine." She grunts, not meeting his eyes. Arvid frowns, placing on his hood.

"I am to help the others gather the supplies for departure. See to the repairs." With that he stepped out into the rain, leaving her alone with her troubling thoughts.

So what if he preferred the company of Freydis? That was no business of hers...she attempts to lecture herself.

She peels off her cloak, tossing it aside carelessly. Her hair was soaked, chunks of it across her brow and cheeks from running without her hood on.

The scene replayed in her mind over and over again. The image of Ivar's face and how his fingers lingered over Freydis's skin was seared in her mind. She wondered how his touch would feel on her own skin before scowling.

"Shit." She groans dramatically, wasting no time in busying herself pounding away at the whatever weapons needed repairs. She was glad for the distraction, as her mind raced with unholy thoughts that bolied her blood. She found comfort in the sounds of metal hitting metal, the pattering of the rain soothing her for once.

The familiar scraping of metal and the stabbing of a crutch engulfed the empty forge. She sighs, her eyes peering up at Ivar as he entered. Now fully dressed and looking very much like himself, he was certainly amused.

She glares but says nothing, looking back at the task at hand. The blade was almost new again, and with one more dip in the fire it would be complete.

"Artemis," Ivar grins, grabbing a stool to sit beside her as she worked, "I can hear your ridiculous hammering from my chambers," His smile remained, and before she could raise the hammer again to beat the sword, he curls his fingers around her wrist, halting her actions.

"Something is troubling you." He remarks, easily snatching the hammer from her hand. She rolls her eyes, placing the sword into the bucket of cold water behind her. It was finished anyway.

"I am fine. " She replies stubbornly, attempting to grab the hammer, but he successfully holds it away from her. Even sitting he was much taller then her, and he held the hammer above his head like a child stealing another's toy. Artemis scowls, not bothering to reach for it anymore.

"Why are you here?" Ivar rolled his eyes, handing her back the tool.

"I think it only right to check on the work of my blacksmith."

"Here," She says, removing the sword from the bucket to shove the blade in his face, "Here is my work. Good?" Ivar smirks, humming as he moved two of his fingers to push the blade away from him.

"She was just a whore, Artemis, a bed warmer." She gives him a sharp look, watching as his blue eyes twinkle with mirth. He was teasing her.

"So?"

"So why do you seem so upset?"

"I am not upset."

"You're a terrible liar." She scoffs, pursing her lips.

"They say you freed her. Is it true?" Ivar hesitates.

"Yes."

"I wonder what she has done to merit that," Artemis mutters, "But I suppose it is no concern of mine." She turns away from him, wanting so badly to hide her emotions.

Ivar frowns.

"Artemis, look at me." She sighs, but obeys, moving to bring her gaze back to his. He reaches a hand out, gently moving away the wet pieces of hair from her face with a chuckle. He admires her for a moment, watching her lashes flutter in nervousness. Her cheeks were flushed, and she worried her lip between her teeth.

Ivar sighs, bringing his hand back to run it down the expanse of the new braids he sported. He couldn't bring himself to admit what he was truly feeling, and neither could she. Instead he teased her, offering her a toothy grin.

"Did you want to be in Freydis's place? Did you want to be the one about to suck me off?"

There it was, the reaction he knew was to come. Her face transformed into that of an angry wolf, eyebrows arched and lips set in a line. She wanted to punch him so badly, feeling her fists curl up on instinct.

She stops herself. Still not a good idea to punch a viking prince.

She quickly grabs her cloak, removing her gloves and tossing them at Ivar before stepping out into the foul weather. She needed to think, and be away from him.

...

"So, have you done...anything with her...yet?" Hvisterk inquires, ripping the meat off a chicken bone with his teeth, chewing unceremoniously. Ivar sat quietly, picking at his food, his mind running off.

"Who?"

"You know who, " Hvitserk rolls his eyes but continues, "Because if you don't, I would not mind." He shrugs, a smile breaking out when his brother glares at him.

"You will do no such thing." Ivar growls, slamming his hands down on the wooden table top, immediately silencing the church. He looked around before motioning for everyone to continue their meals, and so the chatter began again. Hvitserk laughs, tossing the chicken bone at Ivar, who quickly swatted it out his way.

"So I see she is still yours without being yours. Tell me brother, how can you have such a brilliant mind for war, yet such ignorance towards affection?" Hvitserk wasn't much of a romantic man himself, but even he wanted to feel the tender touches of love.

"Blame these useless legs." Ivar snarls. His nose flares in annoyance, reaching out to gulp down his own ale, and once he finished it, he grabbed at Hvitserk’s. He slammed the cup down when he finished, and after a moment, he relaxes, drumming his fingers over the table top and finally meeting his brothers eyes.

"Artemis is a distraction," He begins with a hiccup, "She is a Christian."

"That cannot be the issue," Hvitserk snorts, reaching out to eat another leg of chicken, "She is educated in our ways, you saw to that. I think you're scared baby brother."

"Hvitserk," Ivar warns, "Shut. Up."

"And she is beautiful, Ivar, " He continues, lowering his tone, "You decided to free her. You know men will venture towards her like hawks. If you desire her, then claim her." He shrugs.

"She is not the type to be...claimed, Hvitserk. She is not like...Freydis." He mutters the blonde girls name as if a poison were coated on his lips. She had been so convincing, whispering in his ear all the things he wished to hear, telling him the things he was capable of, and yet it all felt so wrong. Especially seeing Artemis's eyes after that.

"What happened with that anyway? Was she any good?" Hvitserk asks, crossing his arms over the table and leaning forward with a suggestive wiggle of his brows.

"Nothing happened," Ivar hisses, "She couldn't-I couldn't," He hesitates, "Artemis walked in on us-"

"She what?" Laughter bubbled in Hvitserk's chest, and he couldn't hold back the grin, "Ivar you must be daft. You’re setting her up to fall into the arms of another! As I said, I wouldn’t mind taking her off your hands-"

"I will fight you and all the others that dare approach her!" Ivar booms, slamming his hands onto the table, raising himself up as if ready to pounce at him. He gulps down the sudden rage, his eyes blinking, noticing his men once again stop to look at him.

"Then what are you waiting for?" Hvitserk asks, far use to his brothers outbursts. Ivar exhales through his nostrils, willing himself to relax. Slowly, he lowers himself back down with a plop, his eyes following his brother as he gets up and leaves the church.

He sighs, ripping apart a loaf of bread, and shoving the piece in his mouth.

How could he feel the way he did for a Christian? He swore to the gods he would stay faithful to his people, and to be with a true northern woman, but he found himself less interested in the women faithful to his gods, and more interested in that insuffereable woman faithful to her one.

"Shit." Ivar groans, dropping his head into his hands.

He was stupid.

...

Daylight came to an end and it had continued to rain in light showers that evening when the moon began to rise into the sky. Artemis searched for a moments peace, leaving the other blacksmith's with the remaining work that needed completing.

She bid England a farewell, knowing she'd never cross the sea again to view its horizon. Although it rained as if the sky were weeping, the surrounding nature was beautiful. Maybe not as beautiful as the hills of Crete or even the mountains in Norway, but it was peaceful.

There was a little yelp behind her, and she felt light nips against her ankles. Looking down she smiles at the pup as it cocks its head at her before wagging his tail, jumping on 2 legs to balance his paws on her leg. He was small, and a bit malnourished, with cream colored fur, black floppy ears and snout.

She often gave him bits of food when she had the chance, giving the pup reason to trail after her.

She smiles, bending down to scratch him behind his ears, grateful for his company. Picking a spot on the dewy grass, she spreads her cloak over it before laying down and closing her eyes with a content sigh. The rain had finally stopped and she was grateful, breathing in the night air. The river Thames' rushing waters helped to sooth her nerves.

It had taken some time, but her anger diffused. She couldn't be angry at him anymore, it was nearly impossible. Or perhaps she was just tired.

Or stupid.

The hound went to snuggle beside her, seeking out her warmth. It must have been an eventful day for both hound and girl, but they could forget all their troubles in that moment.

"Goddess of the moon, and hounds? And perhaps of torment as well." Ivar's voice was unmistakeable. Artemis could pinpoint it in a noisy crowd if she needed to. The sound of his voice in the distance was enough to have the hound act in suspicion.

"Prince Ivar." She greets him, eyes still closed, "To what do I owe the pleasure?" He slithers along the damp grass, shushing the baby hound when it moved to growl at him.

"I never thanked you for repairing my braces, so...thank you." He plops beside her, laying down with his arms behind his head.

Artemis cracks an eye open with a snort. She turns to look at him, her eyes following the line of his profile. Ivar had his long hair loose, the dark strands forming waves from his earlier hairstyle, spread over the grass. It was a look Artemis was enamored with, but would never cared to admit. He was handsome indeed.

"Something tells me that is not why you are here." She says, and he finally turns to look at her, his blue eyes hard with determination.

"I wanted to...apologize for earlier. I did not mean to tease you so." Artemis sat up, turning to peer down at Ivar with a look of disbelief.

"Prince Ivar the Boneless does not apologize."

"I am being serious."

"So am I." He huffs, turning away from her to look at the moon, bright among the stars.

"It's fine." She finally says.

"That's it? It's fine?"

"Yes. "

"I meant what I said, you know," He continues, "Freydis was only a whore to warm my bed." He could almost hear how hard she was thinking.

"It's fine," She repeats, "There is no need to explain yourself, P-"

"Ivar," He cut her off, "You may call me Ivar." She pauses, fingers passing over the pups fur.

"Ivar." She corrects with a sigh, biting her lip to fight back a smile. It was different addressing him without his title.

She plops back down against the damp grass, her eyes moving across the night sky to catch a glimpse of all the stars. There was a comfortable silence that fell between them as they looked up at the heavens.

"Do you ever wonder," Artemis begins, "About the night sky, or the moon and stars?"

"No." Ivar snorts.

"There are stories my ancestors believed of the night," She recounts, "My father use to tell them to me when I was a girl."

"We have stories too. Nótt is the night sky, Mani the moon, and one of Aurvandil's toes is that star right over there." He points up, turning with a frown when Artemis laughs.

"What's so funny?"

"A toe?"

"Yes," He grunts, "What is it you Christian's believe?"

"That God created everything, of course."

"How dull." She laughs again, rolling her body to her side, finding he was already looking at her.

"The old Greeks believed the stars were people rewarded by the gods for noble deeds." Ivar smiles through his confusion.

"I like Aurvandil's toe better."

"It's, uhh, a beautiful toe, I suppose." Ivar chuckles, leaning up on his elbows.

"Why the sudden interest in the stars?"

"It was never sudden," She says, "I would sleep under the stars everyday of my life if I could. It is a comfort to admire the beauty in this world when it can be so cruel."

"Do you think me cruel?" Ivar utters the words softly, lowering himself to face her. It was getting darker, her features hard to make out with the simple light of the moon, but there was enough to see the surprise in her eyes.

"I...I think you cruel when the moment calls for it. Because you feel you need to be." Ivar closes his eyes for a moment, swallowing the lump in his throat. She was right.

"Cruelty wins wars. It conquers land," He pauses with a shaky breath, "But it would not win your heart." Her brows knit together in confusion.

"What?"

Ivar rolls his body closer to hers until he looms over her, maneuvering himself easily between her legs. She didn't put up a fight, though her eyes were wide with shock. He holds himself up, putting a hand atop her chest and feeling how her heart beated like drum.

"What must I do to win your heart?" She blinks up at him, debating if she should take him seriously.

"Why would you want to win my heart?" She holds his stare, their breaths puffing over each other with every timid exhale, "I thought perhaps you held the heart of another."

Ivar sucks his teeth, knowing exactly of who she meant. He dips his body lower until their chests touched and the tip of their noses brushed. His hair shields the sides of her face, cocooning her with his intense eyes. She hesitates before bringing her hands up to his chest, skimming the leather until her fingers curl over his shoulders.

"You are a foolish girl, you know that?" He chuckles, "A beautiful, yet foolish girl." He pauses, biting his lip in nervousness before gently placing his lips over hers.

Her lips were so soft, molding against his like a dance they had rehearsed over and over again. It was everything he could have hoped for, and he already begins to feel the buzz of excitement. She grips the back of his neck, bringing him closer, needing to feel his warmth. She melts into his kisses, feeling a pleasant heat engulf her.

It was...perfect.

After what felt like an eternity, their lips parted with an obscene sound, and he places his brow on hers, breathing in her scent of damp earth. Artemis brings a hand up to trace her fingers over his face, down the length of his nose, and to his jaw. She bites her lip, feeling her skin blaze like a fever.

"Do you really think me foolish?" She whispers, her eyes lingering over his lips before trailing them up to his eyes. They lit up when he smiles, crinkling at the corners.

"Did you really think she could warm my heart?" He counters.

"It was quite convincing." She mutters, "I thought perhaps I’d have to make one for you as I did your braces." She shifts her head away from his to save herself the embarrassment.

"Stop," He says gently, nudging her face back with his nose, "Do not hide from me anymore." He rolls off of her, and within a few seconds, he tugs her over him, her legs coming to rest on either side of his thighs. She grips the neckline of his leather vest to stabilize herself, and his hands sneak up to settle on her hips.

"Ivar, I-"

"Just listen to me, Artemis," She nods, resting her hands over his chest, "I was never fortunate enough to show affection as plainly as any other man could." He takes in a breath, closing his eyes as if to sum up the courage, before opening them again.

"I cannot explain it, but there is something you ignite in me that I could not ignore, no matter how hard I pleaded with the gods to make the ache in my heart stop. I can no longer ignore it." This time he turns his face away from hers, and this time, she brings him back, her palm brushing gently over his sideburn.

"Do not hide from me." She repeats his words with a smile, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. The same fluttering sensations in her abdomen from days ago resurfaced just from the simple intimate action.

"My heart aches for you." He admits, and she could feel his heart beating wildly as he said those words, his eyes swimming with...fear. She watches him carefully in silence.

"Artemis." Ivar pleads in a tone that was foreign to her ears. He was anxious.

"What of Freydis?" He sucks his teeth, lifting himself on his elbows to get a better look at her.

"If I truly wanted her, would I be wasting time revealing my heart to you?"

"I am not sure what you would do, Ivar." She admits, and he sighs, understanding her skepticism.

"I've never used her before." He mutters under his breath.

"Hmm?" Another sigh.

"I said, I've never used her...services before. Today would have been the first time." Artemis lowers herself over him, pushing him back down so that her face hovered a few inches above his.

"Are you lying?" She questions.

"No, baby bird, I am not," He smooths her over with the nickname, bringing both his hands up to grip the sides of her delicate face, her eyes suddenly glossing over.

"I did not have the strength to rid my thoughts of you. I thought perhaps she could rid them for me. For once, I was wrong." He runs the pads of his thumbs over her cheekbones, and her eyes flutter at the sensation.

There was silence for a moment as their eyes battled each others.

"You torment me." He whines.

"Not a pleasant feeling, is it?" She laughs at the pout forming on his pink lips, letting him guide her back to his lips. He nips at her lips, smiling when she moans in what was a mixture of discomfort and desire. She pulls away, panting slightly as she buried herself in the crook of his neck.

"You are not alone in your affections," She mumbles over his skin, "But I must confess that I am afraid."

"I must confess the same," He says, "Love turns even the bravest of men into cowards. I see that now." She shifts her face to skim her lips over the hot skin of his face before lifting her upper body up again.

"Hmm." She considers his words as she shifts her hips over his, watching how his eyes screwed shut, mouth falling open. She freezes, unaware of what she’d just done.

"Fuck," He growls, his fingers sinking into her hips, "How did you do that?" Her eyes widened, totally naive of her own actions.

"I-I dont know." She stutters. Ivar shifts her hips over his again, and she chokes, closing her eyes as her body trembled from the foreign sensations.

"That," Ivar moans, drinking in the sight of her own face of pleasure, "That."

She feels him growing under her, the pressure pushing up against the heat between her legs. She licks her lips, feeling a desire surge through her that she'd never experienced before.

Ivar stares up at her in wonder, chest heaving and hands twitching over her hips before pulling her down for another heated kiss. His large hands explore the expanse of her back, settling right on the dip, pushing down to follow the rhythm in which she moved.

"I've never done this before." He pants shyly over her lips, releasing another moan that seemed to vibrate through her.

"Neither have I." She pants back, gripping his shoulders tightly.

"But the rumors-"

"Forget the rumors," She interrupts him, moving back just enough to make eye contact, "You believe love is what you feel for me?"

"I do." He nods without hesitation. She throws caution to the wind, swooping down for another kiss before replying.

"Then show me."

...

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hitsuackerman · 4 years

Text

A Different Hashira (Giyu x Reader) pt 2

Here is the part 2 of A Different Hashira

You can click here for part 1 :)

- - - - -

WIELDING A FAKE

- - - - -

8 years later

"Kyo!"

The Flame Pillar turned to look at you. Beaming you his signature smile he opened his arms as you ran towards him at full speed. Once he caught you, he twirled you in the air. The way his haori danced with the wind always made you happy.

"Long time no see, (N/N)!" Kyojuro said as he ruffled your hair causing your laughter to resonate with the other pillars.

"Shut up, you two! Fuckin early in the morning and ya'll are already bickering?" Sanemi, The Air pillar complained as he walked past the two of you.

"My my! Rengoku-san. (L/N)-chan. It has indeed been quite some time since we last saw each other." Shinobu commented with her signature smile. Her violet eyes always captivated you.

Freeing yourself from Kyojuro, you ran to Shinobu and gave her a hug as well.

Looking around, you were looking for the Love Pillar.

"Matsuri?"

"Ahh, she's on her way. I saw her eating at a ramen shop before arriving here." Shinobu replied while giving you a wink.

"Ramen... Kyo, let's get some ramen after this meeting!"

Giving you a wink, you couldn't wait for the meeting to be over.

Not a moment too soon, Matsuri appeared with her vibrant pink and green hair. As always you motioned her to refrain from running too much. The fear of her exposing too much was always worrisome for you. Brushing it off, she hugged you tightly with much more strength. You could've sworn she had male muscles.

Everyone was gathered around the Ubuyashiki household for a rather important meeting. Just as all of you had formed a line, the 97th leader of the Demon Corps showed up. His face was slowly rotting due to the curse bestowed upon him. Once again, you felt your heart pang at the site of an old friend in pain.

"My children. It is good to see you all."

Kneeling in unison with beaming smiles, you all greeted Ubuyashiki-sama.

"I am sure you are all wondering why I have assembled you at such short notice. That is because we have a new pillar joining us today."

The garden was filled with a bunch of emotions that seemed to amuse the cursed man. Using his Soothing Voice, each pillar felt calmer and gave him their full attention once more.

"Giyu Tomioka. The new Water Pillar."

Appearing from thin air, a tall man wearing a mismatched haori met you all. His eyes were sharp and befitting for a water pillar. From your angle, they seemed to be bluer than the depths of the ocean. His long messy hair was kept in a low ponytail. Whatever emotion he had, it was pretty well kept.

Giyu simply bowed.

"Tomioka-san will be staying at the water estate. (Y/N), please stand to further acquaint yourself."

Following orders, you stood up and gave the water pillar a smile. His eyes darted to you then back at the others. You couldn't help but scrunch your face a bit at his, somewhat, rude reaction.

Kneeling back down, you could only think of how things would turn out at the estate.

You see, unlike the Butterfly Estate, the Water Estate had no helpers running around. Though you were allowed to employ or accept volunteers, Urokodaki would scold and hit you with his wooden katana if you ever did so. He was a firm believer that if you can't keep the estate clean, you don't deserve to live there.

"I have also gathered you all here today with some ill news."

Ubuyashiki motioned Giyu to join with the other pillars.

Stationing himself next to you, you eyed him a bit. He was quite pale compare to the others. The hilt of his sword contained white, red and blue. Something similar to the current blade you were wielding. Even from a close distance, you could feel the just how introverted this man was. Still, you were not one to deny he looked good.

"Muzan Kibutsuji has been making his move once again. I'm afraid I will have to put you all on the line once again, my children."

Each pillar had a different reaction to the name. Some were excited to take him down once and for all. The others remained calm and composed. You were part of the latter.

All 5 pillars gave your full attention to the leader once more.

"Your crows will send you your missions in due time. Till then, enjoy the peace children."

He bowed and all of you returned the gesture. Amane appeared to help her husband back into the manor leaving all of you to mingle with one another.

Everyone seemed to be enjoying each other's company (with a few arguments from Sanemi and you but that was normal.) Your eyes shifted to the new pillar who was standing alone in the corner, observing each of you intently. Wanting to break the ice, you walked toward him.

"Looks like your my house mate!"

You waited for a response but didn't get any.

"You wanna head back together so I can show you around the estate?"

"No."

You felt an irk mark form on the top of your head. Telling yourself he was just adjusting to the environment, you accepted his decline and still gave him an inviting smile. Should he need help in the house, you were just a whistle away. Before you could say anything more, he vanished.

Kyojuro, Matsuri, and Shinobu approached you with amused faces.

"Why do I feel like he's the quiet version of Sanemi-san?" You couldn't help but twitch your mouth as you realized what kind of person you would be living with.

"Look at the bright side, (N/N). He's not a war freak!" Kyojuro laughed at his own remark. Flashing you a bright smile, his fiery eyes made you nod your head with agreement. "That aside, I'm hungry. Shall we?"

All for of you were about to leave the estate till a thought came to you.

"Hey, can I just catch up? I have to check something in my room."

Everyone agreed and all of you left at the same time.

- -

Practically running towards the manor, you hurriedly jumped to the open window of your room.

Not that Giyu seemed like the type to snoop around, you couldn't risk him seeing it.

You walked toward your sword holder and admired your Nichirin blade. It was still black as the night. It's scabbard was matte black. Locked to the end pommel, you admired how the black chains shifted colors when viewed at a certain angle. Black to red and red to black. It's guard consisting of 4 pointed ends forming a swastika were as glossy as ever. It's hilt had black cloth wrapped around it with red ornaments.

The moment you held on to the sword, you felt your true power rush into you.

It had been quite some time since you had used your real blade.

8 years ago, you sent a letter to Tecchikawahara asking him to forge you a sturdy blade. You indicated the reason as to why, along with certain requirements you needed it to have and within 2 months, you met with him in the Water Estate.

The blade you were wielding now was a standard Nichirin blade. When you held on to it, it's color changed into a glossy black one that had hints of navy blue on it. It was no surprise since you specifically asked Tecchikawahara to forge it that way.

Each time mission you had, you always had to send your blade back to him to get the edges refined once more.

All of this you had to endure after that one night you had used your breathing technique and lost control. Thinking that that was the result for not having the right amount of willpower, you trained harder and harder till you lost consciousness and woke up in the same spot after 3 days.

Every warning given to you was present yet you still wanted it and vowed to master the breathing technique.

Sure enough, you managed to master it.

It took 4 years to fully understand the blade and know how to truly activate it's full potential. By the time you were confident that you had truly known it's powers, you sheathed it and began to use the blade you are wielding now.

From time to time, you would take the sword and fulfill it's wants. Only on solo missions would you use your real techniques. When you had to team up with other pillars, you simply acted as if you used the Breath of Water. In reality, you could only go through 4 breathing techniques.

Slicing your nostalgia trip, you transferred the sword to your cabinet. You had a built in rack in one of your closets for precautions.

Hearing the tatami doors open, you decided to initiate conversation with the new Water Pillar once more.

Both your rooms were on the same floor so you decided to wait by the stairs. When he appeared in your field of view, you couldn't help but stare at him. Capturing your stare, you marveled at how mysterious his eyes were. Yet, you couldn't help but feel sadness wrapping his state of mind.

Sensing negativity was one of the abilities you picked up once you mastered your breathing technique. You tried to sense other emotions but it was nothing but the sad emotions we humans tend to avoid. The only exception to that was when a human or demon felt inner peace. You were still not sure as to how you could develop that ability but you still tried during your free time.

Just as Giyu walked past you, you didn't bother looking at him anymore.

"Tomioka-san, are you okay?"

You heard his footsteps come to a halt. Feeling his eyes focus on you, you glanced through your shoulders.

Breaking the contact, you simply smirked and made your way down the stairs.

- - - - -

a/n:

ahh yes :) so here are some pointers to remember...

so I'm not quite sure as to who the first pillars were so i sorta made up the order :) here in my story, the pillars are still 5/9 (not including reader-chan hehehe). but ofcourse the others will surely follow as the story progresses :)

as for your real breathing technique? its simply a surprise :)

leave a comment for any questions you have and ill gladly answer :)

#tomioka giyuu #kimetsu no yaiba tomioka #KNY #tomioka giyu x reader #kimetsu no yaiba giyuu #giyuu tomioka x reader #Kimetsu no Yaiba #kimetsu no yaiba x reader #demon slayer #demon slayer giyuu #reader insert

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officialtrashbin · 4 years

Text

Scraps of Dreams

Commission for anonymous who wanted Corvus x Proxima smut! (Did I mention commissions are open again? Cause they are!)

Rating: Explicit (aka shameless smut) Corvus x Proxima or: Thanos: Death Sentence left their sexual tension unresolved so I fixed it. Anon wanted Corvus to be more dominant and give his wife a little TLC.

* * * * *

The hotel room they lent him was fifty stories above what could be considered ground-level for a city that felt built into a fault line, with streets and skyscrapers varied in length and curvature like personal desire, not reflective of an idea but of a transitive notion of accomplishment in its smallest form to amass into something bigger than mere individual value. Corvus Glaive supposed the want to leave proof of one’s existence in the universe stemmed from the underlying oppression of meaninglessness. To find purpose or to forge it.

It came as no surprise when he thought it all a waste.

* * *

They didn’t talk about what transpired today. Not the emotional ups and downs, or the political navigations, or the pathetic mess Corvus had been afterwards, realizing he might have finally reclaimed his destiny at his rightful Master’s side. It was difficult to process, let alone address, the hazardous accumulation of transgressive narrative from the last few hours. In fact, it felt like an utter chore to say anything at all.

Proxima had her body turned away from him as she undressed in favor of clothes that reminded him suddenly of their normalcy; he didn’t have to see her face to know her exhaustion was present, palpable, even, with how she moved like her limbs were filled under their surface with water. In the low light from the fluorescence of the city outside, her body took on the quality of water, too—translucent blue, hair rolling up and crashing down across her back, her motions so overstated by the constant occurrence of mere existence he wondered if he might just buckle under the weight of her enormity.

“Oh, Midnight—”

It had been so terribly quiet. His words shattered the very foundation of stillness. She snapped her attention to him, eyes widened, doe-like, in the low ambiance of illumination.

“Yes, my love?”

Corvus was beyond modesty, especially in the dark, where the shadows accrued across his lithe chest to replace the cloak he’d left thrown carelessly on the desk chair. He knew his horrible visage was worsened in the night. A beast by nature, or by universal law to counterbalance all the do-gooders that were compelled beyond his understanding to Make Things Right, assembled of equal parts horrible intent and predatory design. Maybe he was merely accustomed to justifying his own happenstance.

He said to her, “I think I will never know if I’m making the correct decisions,” and thought of the time he’d seen Black Dwarf break open a Shi’ar’s ribcage to expose their tender, beating heart, and the way it jolted, jolted, jolted in its meaty cocoon. The explicit, horrible vulnerability. “I think I will never know certainty again. What am I supposed to do when my life has been devoted to all that which has amounted to nothing?”

Proxima approached him slowly. She was the opposite of hesitation, always moving and speaking and thinking with the same absolution of momentum; a constant force awaiting a collision regardless of pace.

“My darling,” she whispered to him in the dark, her hands framing his face. “Am I nothing?”

They hadn’t been alone with each other in nearly five standard months. He’d been reminded of his loneliness when they reunited, albeit briefly, earlier that day—the swollen warmth of her mouth, the bend of her skin in his hands, their insatiable togetherness under the veil of his office shadows.

“That is not what I meant,” he said, stroking her cheek with his thumb. Without his gauntlets or battlesuit to disrupt their closeness, he could feel the lingering static of her power traversing the neurons under her skin, jumping to his fingertips by proximity. Something inside him unknotted. “No, you aren’t. Of course you aren’t.”

“But are you?”

That was how he felt, sometimes, when he wasn’t in her presence. “No,” he said, pressing lazy kisses along the length of her jawline, noting the dampness of her scent with each sudden intake of breath. “Yet, as of late—”

One of her hands went to the back of his head and anchored him in place. Their exposed skins, gray-on-blue, blue-on-gray, melded together, indistinguishable in the low light, in the encompassing darkness. “We are trying to get our footing,” she said. Her logic (and, he thought softly, her love for him) stood as a counterpoint to all the instances in his life that made him feel less than what he’d earned. “No matter where we are, when we are, or why—you are everything to me.”

He trembled in her embrace. He wanted to echo her words, to intake the sanctity of their marriage and every little fulfillment, and transpose it all into the atrocities of war, or of whatever was required of him, with or without purpose; to tear, to maim, to love. The truth of them.

“I am nothing without you,” he said, his mouth hot against her skin. His confession rang through her mind clear as a bell struck calmly and with total acceptance. “Oh, my dear Midnight.”

His teeth captured the soft junction of her neck, stimulating her nerves. She groaned at the reception of the desperate, self-contained violence in his actions. He bit her hard but not hard enough, the method of practiced power that didn’t hurt when it so easily could. Her leg entwined with his. Her fingers curled against his ribs, splaying out where she could feel his pulse fluttering beneath hard bone.

The wet heat of her lips pressed to the blade embedded in his skull, which tethered him to his unending existence, and he reasoned there wasn’t any meaning in that either.

“Take me to bed.”

* * *

Most times, the victor was decided by the basis of conviction alone, filling the precious time allotted to them with little, violent tendencies until one surrendered the struggle. If they hadn’t been interrupted by their Kree escort earlier in the office, Corvus suspected he would have retained the utter dominance that compelled his desire to make Proxima come for him right there against the wall. But he was so debilitated by exhaustion that his sense of time skewed at the edges where one memory met another, and it felt to him like that morning occurred in an entirely different time and place. He didn’t have the energy reserves in him to instigate or resist.

Proxima pushed him easily up against the cool metal that composed the headboard. She must have noticed his absence of strength because he saw the way her head tilted in silent questioning, suspending her weight above his left thigh. “My love?” she said, stroking the centerfold of his chest with her forefinger.

“Your beauty is distracting.”

Her thumb slipped into the waistband of his undershorts, running casually over the jut of his hipbone and raising bumps on his ash-gray skin. “I can be distracting in other ways.”

It felt natural to be alone with her again. He growled low in his chest, and his hands worked their way up her sides to her full breasts, contrasting her rain-cold skin with the dry heat of his palms. “I’ve missed you terribly,” he said, kissing the center of her sternum. “I often refrain from asking too much, however—”

“You can ask anything of me.”

“Then I want to enjoy this night. I want to worship you.” His hands went to her hips and he pushed her back, meeting only a moment of resistance from her weight before she submitted to his motions. He laid them out across the bed, which became, he thought, suddenly too small for the conjoined mass of them both. “Slow,” he added. “It’s been too long since I’ve given you all of me.”

Proxima’s expression was one of knowing. She guided his chin down and kissed him, always combative by fault of genetic disposition, her tongue pushing against his own and her teeth working at his bottom lip; she brought them so easily together in the privacy of a room he’d slept in for months alone, not easily, and only out of necessity.

Corvus gazed at her as she worked his mouth open, but she must have sensed his attention was on her because the pads of her thumbs pressed against his eyelids, forcing them closed. He became acutely aware of the featherlight pressure in her touch and how easily she could crook her fingers and gouge his eyes out. His spine prickled with the anticipation of her lethality.

“We really mustn’t make a habit of being apart for so long,” she told him quietly, when she finally pulled away to settle on her back. Corvus delicately traced the swollen plush of her lower lip, already missing their connection. “I was not beyond taking you in the office, despite the interruption, though that speaks volumes on our lack of common decency.”

Corvus’ forefinger trekked along the curve of her shoulder, following the dip of her chest to her breast. “I should have cut his head from his shoulders and had you anyway.” His fingertip ran the circumference of her areola and she took in a sharp breath. “I care little for decency.”

Proxima groaned when he replicated his motion again, the fondness understated by the sweetness of it, how gentle he was being when he hardly ever was before. “And I care little for your—oh—stalling—”

“Am I distracting you?” he asked, flicking her perked nipple with his tongue.

Proxima’s only answer was a groan, barely emitted but somehow like a sudden gunshot in the stillness of the night. It rattled his entire being. Taking in her sounds and her presence, and threatening to shake apart under the strength of her existence alone.

Corvus’ mouth indulged on her breasts, leaving love bites along the inner blue skin before settling on one nipple, and she arched her spine, pressing closer, telling him without words what she liked (as if he didn’t already possess such intimate knowledge. As if they hadn’t defaced every ship, bed, or closet they’d ever been in just to experience the emotional implications of how desperate they’d been when taking another body against their own). Her legs parted around his waist. One of her hands curled into the threadbare sheets.

Corvus placed his touch everywhere she wanted him to: on her other nipple to ensure they were both treated properly, on a seamed scar above her stomach from stray shrapnel of their first mission together, on the soft inside of her thighs where nerves roped into the junction of her hip. He nipped at the dip of her navel, startling a laugh out of her, and then a frustrated moan when he gently bit the band of her skivvies.

“Corvus, do not tease me, I’m—”

“Enjoying this quite a lot, apparently,” he said coyly, tracing her labia from over her garments with the tips of his fingers, and gathering the wetness that had accumulated. She rolled her hips in countermotion to his hand. “You are as insatiable as you are impatient. Look at me, my love.”

She opened her eyes and gazed down at him, noting the way his eyes flared crimson in the dark. A feeling of ice slid down her spine. “Corvus—”

“Don’t I always give you what you want?”

She hesitated. He kissed the scar on her stomach again, devoting himself to the repetition of ensuring every part of her, especially the damages that made her feel imperfect or skewed, was loved, and she said, “It’s been so very long since we were last together. Don’t you know how I ache?”

“I will remedy that very soon,” he said. “Be patient, Wife. Be patient and I will take care of you.”

She exhaled, sinking into the mattress, into the swirl of sheets, allowing him the ease of her surrender. His mouth was hot against the slope of her crotch and he worked his fingers under the hem of her skivvies, pulling them down her thighs as if shedding a layer of skin. The black fabric slid from her ankles. He bunched the cloth up in his hand and looked down at it in disbelief, realizing in that moment the horrifying fact that he’d been without her for entire weeks of his life—that he had felt for five agonizing months the quiet, enrapturing terror of loneliness in the universe, and wondered how he ever survived before her.

The skivvies were discarded to the floor. He sank easily between her legs, pulling one over his shoulder and bending the other open at the knee. “You’re beautiful, my lady Midnight,” he said, and saw her chest hitch. He transposed his words into his actions—into unfurling his tongue from behind the cage of his teeth and pushing it lovingly against her clit.

Her moan broke the shadows in the room. “Oh, my love…”

Corvus was experienced with how she liked to be treated. Five months wasn’t nearly long enough for him to forget, and muscle memory guided his hands so he was stroking her sides, her hips, her thighs, slow and tender, feeling her muscles flexing under the impressions of his fingertips—and his tongue worked at her opposingly, rough and steady, increasing the pressure and pace of his technique. He alternated the pleasures as he went, stroked her labia, circled her entrance, sucked her bud. Made her louder, made her gasp and roll her hips and utter his name.

Proxima thumbed at one of her nipples, still swollen from Corvus’ treatment, and whined into the dark as the pleasure tumbled through her body. She reached down with her other hand and took his into it, their fingers interlacing, offering a semblance of resistance against her oncoming orgasm. He glanced up from between her thighs, and she must have sensed his intentions because she met his gaze and the look in her eye ignited him inside, like a flare diffusing behind his chest. It was the surest feeling—even in the moments when he doubted this all wasn’t simply, absolutely, the final fleeting memories of his brain in death—that he was truly alive.

Corvus dutifully lavished her with his tongue. He gave her no indication of letting up, forcing her closer to the edge, maintaining his violent, loving pace even as she began to buck her hips against his face, amplifying the friction of his wonderful mouth against her beautiful cunt.

“My love—”

He knew. She didn’t have to say it, but gods did he adore hearing it.

“My love, I want to—”

A warning. A desperate plea. The fire burning low in her belly and raging upwards, burning a bright, hot path throughout her entire being.

“—come for you—”

He growled an acknowledgement, focusing on her clit as her sounds became erratic and loud and deliciously desperate. Her entire body seized up. Corvus had her at the edge and he left her there, right at the peak of coming, for a single moment to take in the pressure of her thighs suddenly around his head, of relishing in the knowledge that he was the only person who could make her feel this way, who could bring Proxima Midnight of the Black Order to the point of begging for release—and he sucked on her clit again, sending her careening into an orgasm so intense she cried out as if in agony, bucking her hips violently while he locked her against him with his other arm across her hips. His tongue stroked her womanhood as she rode through her ecstasy. His name slid from her mouth in a euphoric chant. Her body pulsed with each wave of pleasure; coming undone, falling apart.

Corvus maintained his momentum until she settled into the bed again; he easily released her, redirecting the affections of his mouth to her stomach. She twitched hard beneath him. Groaned and fidgeted and tried to regain control, never once releasing her grasp on his hand.

She came back to herself several long minutes after. “Corvus,” she whispered to him, earning his gaze. His eyes still burned with hunger, though they appeared more calculated—pensive, even, akin to the look of a wolf considering its own brood. He was anticipating her response, obvious as it was: “I have been patient.”

“Yes, you have.” He loomed over her and took in the sight of her hair fanned out beneath them, furling waves of water tinged silver like starlight. She possessed the aura and presence of a goddess, he was certain. A trifecta of beauty and power. The embodiment of mortal absolution sending a king to his knees and all she had to do was look at him.

Corvus wanted to worship her until his final breath.

She said, “I want to have all of you now.”

And she would have all of him, wherever and whenever, for now and for always.

“Oh, Midnight,” he said, taking her into his arms. “Now, and until the end. Forever.”

#corvus x proxima #corvus glaive #proxima midnight #commission fill #proxivus

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imaginepirates · 5 years

Text

Beyond Childhood

A Will x reader requested by @apirateslifeforme2. Will is the reader’s childhood friend, but they haven’t seen each other in a long time. After meeting at Elizabeth’s wedding to James, their feelings for each other begin to rekindle.

~3100 words

~~~~~~~

The wedding was spectacular. The governor had gone all out for Elizabeth. She was his only daughter, after all, and he loved James like a son already.

The air was sweet with the scent of flowers and traces of perfume where women walked. The gardens were immaculate; hedges were trimmed into all different animals, and flowers were planted in staggering arrays of color and kind. Fountains sprayed water lazily into their basins, carved statues sitting atop them.

In a large, open section of grass, the ceremony was to be held. The clearing was situated on a hill, and you could see all the way down to the bay. You were far back enough from it that the shouting and ringing of bells was only a whisper on the wind. The musicians blocked out most of the sound. Their melodies echoed over the gardens sweetly.

Elizabeth had been a good friend of yours since childhood. Together, you’d climbed every tree in the garden. You reflected on those memories fondly, remembering the times you’d tramped through flowerbeds or made castles of mud. Your childhoods had been filled with such imagination and wonder.

Now, Elizabeth was getting married. Your best friend, smitten with a commodore. It was bittersweet. You loved Elizabeth, and though you hated to see her off, you were happy for her. It was more than you could say for yourself.

If your heart had belonged to anybody, it had been the smith’s boy, William. You’d been close as children, too, but you hadn’t seen him in the past year. Whatever you might have felt for him was a dim shell of what it had been. You didn’t even know him anymore.

You rounded a corner to a gaggle of girls you knew from finishing school. How young you’d been! The girls before you were much older versions of themselves from when you’d known them; they were taller, their cheeks had lost their roundness, and they sported delicate long arms and protruding collarbones.

You had changed in the past years, too. You had become more of a woman. You vaguely wondered what William would think of you now.

You were distracted by Elizabeth, who ran across the gardens to meet you. At least, she tried, but it wasn’t so easily done in such a long dress. It was pale yellow, and embroidered flowers decorated the bodice and skirts. It was expertly done. The embroidery was done in such light shades of reds, greens, and blues that you could hardly tell it wasn’t all yellow.

"Lizzie!“ You called. "Why, you look like a fairytale. I hope you feel the part.”

"Y/N, I’ve been waiting to see you. I do feel the part, if you must know. But where’s your escort? Surely you didn’t come alone. Shouldn’t you be dangling off a man’s arm?“ She gave you a jesting smile. She knew you weren’t the type for that sort of thing.

"And shouldn’t you be hanging off the arm of your dearly beloved fiance?”

"We both know it’s bad luck for the bride and groom to meet before the wedding.“ She batted at your arm. "Though I must say, it’s making me impatient.” She glanced over to the side. “Oh dear, there’s Mrs. Whopsle. I’d better say hello. For appearances sake, you understand.” She gave you a look. Both of you had hated the woman from the time you were ten.

Elizabeth wandered off, and you were left to putter in the gardens until the wedding began. You snaked through the labyrinthine hedges. There were so many people, you thought there wouldn’t be a single unoccupied patch of grass.

You rounded a corner to find an empty space. It was a corner of the garden, and it was a small section with closed fences on three sides. Flowers swayed in the breeze, and small trees had been trimmed into little domes.

You enjoyed the quiet for a moment. As you were about to leave, someone else walked in. He seemed out of place in his nice clothes, and the sleeves of his shirt were too short. His hair had been slicked back nicely; it was clear that he’d taken some time on it. He was skinny, too, much more so than the lords who’s tables were always laden with fine foods.

Despite his clothes and tamed hair, you would’ve recognized him anywhere. It was Will. He was cleaner than normal, and his hair wasn’t the unruly mess you remembered, but he still had the same look, like he was rather lost. Perhaps he had always been a bit lost after the shipwreck. No matter where he was, he had a look on his face like he didn’t belong, and that he wasn’t supposed to be there at all.

The only place he didn’t look lost was the forge. There, he was right at home. You thought he looked a little more angry there. But the forge was his home, and where he’d always been most comfortable. Here in the gardens, he looked out of his element.

"William?“ You prompted.

"Miss L/N?” He hadn’t noticed you before. “How-how are you?”

"I’m well. And what of you?“

"As well as I can be, miss.”

It saddened you that after all the time you’d spent together as children, he still called you Miss. How many times had you snuck out to meet him as children? How many times had you played with wooden swords and hid from his master in the rafters? “Please, Will, I’m still Y/N.”

Will blushed. “It’s not my place.”

"I would have it no other way. If it’s not your place, then whose is it? We’re close friends, William.“

Your words did nothing to convince him. You weren’t surprised. What kind of close friends didn’t see each other for a year? "Even so, Miss. You’re a lady now, and I a blacksmith’s apprentice.”

"Will…" You were cut off by someone announcing the beginning of the wedding ceremony. Will took his leave, bowing slightly and leaving you to make your way to the neat rows of chairs on the lawn.

The ceremony, in your opinion, was long and drawn out. It was an important wedding, of course, but the officiator could’ve spared the crowd half his talk. You were secretly glad when it was done and you could escape the oppressive mob of people. Seeing Elizabeth smiling so brightly was worth it, though; you hadn’t seen her do so since childhood.

You boarded a coach and fled to your aunt’s house, with whom you were staying. She and your cousin would return later. You flung yourself down the moment you got to your room, thankful that you’d left a window open.

You read until you heard the footmen call up to you. Your family had returned, it seemed. You heaved a sigh and wandered down the stairs. They were nice enough people, but you couldn’t help the need to be alone.

As it turned out, it was not your family returned, but a package delivered. At the door stood William, looking sharp and having just come from the wedding. He held a thin box under one arm. It was navy blue with gold script, and could only be one thing.

Your cousin was a lieutenant in the navy, and he’d been needing a new sword. Truly; he wasn’t one to ask for things needlessly. He would be happy to see it had finally come.

You were happy that it was William who delivered it. “William.” You nodded a greeting. “It seems I’m the only one home. Do come in.” You beckoned him in with a hand.

He followed you into the hall at the front of your house. You led him to the dining room, where you had him lay the sword and case. “Tea?” You asked.

"I should be going.“

"Nonsense.” You waved him off and rang for a servant. You wanted to spend a bit of time with him. You hated the thought that might go another year without so much as a word with him.

"You have a very nice life here,“ he commented, looking around at the furnishings.

"I do,” you agreed.

The tea came, and you sipped at it in awkward silence. Neither of you were the best at making conversation. Will fiddled with a napkin while you played with your skirts. You didn’t speak until you’d finished your tea.

"Did you talk to Elizabeth today?“ You asked.

"I wasn’t given the chance. She saw me there, and I figure that’s enough.” He stared sadly into his cup.

"I don’t see much of her either. You miss her, don’t you?“

He hummed his agreement.

"I miss us. All the things we did once. Our little group was unstoppable. Now…” you trailed off. “William, I haven’t seen you in a year.” It hurt to admit.

His face softened. “It’s true.” He reached out for your hand then, but hesitated, face conflicted.

You grabbed his hand as reassurance. “Promise me we’ll see more of each other.”

"I would like that.“ A soft smile came to his lips, one you hadn’t seen in a year. It made your heart flutter.

You saw him out the door just as your aunt arrived home. She spoke with him briefly on the path up to the house. The rest of the talking she left to your cousin, who asked about hi sword. Your family headed inside, you waved to Will as he left.

Your cousin was mightily pleased with the sword. You found it a pretty blade as well. It was well balanced, that much you knew. You felt it yourself when you held it. To know it was Will’s work made your chest tight.

You visited him within the month. You couldn’t stand being apart for so long, and you’d made a promise to see him more often. You snuck into his shop, which wasn’t hard, given the drunkenness of Will’s master.

William was the one who really made all the blades. He was a wonderful smith. Most of his swords were plain, but some had beautiful patterns in the steel. He crafted other things, too, like cuffs and chains. Anything the navy needed, Will made.

"Will?” You called. There was a muffled clanking in response as he hastily set down his tools. He hadn’t been expecting you.

Sheepishly, he pulled off the giant gloves he’d been wearing. He looked a little embarrassed, but you couldn’t say why. Perhaps it was due to your status compared to his, or maybe it was because his shirt was plastered to his back by sweat, and you could see the muscles of his arms through it.

"What are you making?“ You asked. You peeked over his shoulder, but there was no way to tell what the lump of metal was to become.

"Leg-irons.” He replied. “I have to return to making them before the iron cools.”

"Of course. I hope you don’t mind if I join you.“ You walked around to his anvil where the metal sat. You stared over his shoulder as he hammered it out.

His strokes were tense at first, but he relaxed into a rhythm. You knew what it meant. He’d likely forgotten you were there. It happened when you were children, too. You and Elizabeth would watch him work as his master lie drunk. Around Elizabeth, the tenderness stayed in his shoulders. You didn’t think she had noticed. It was only when he’d been alone with you that he’d relaxed a little. His work was always better then.

It seemed like ages before he finished. When he did, it wasn’t some misshapen hunk of metal you saw. Leg-irons, perfect as could be made. You wondered how the cold iron felt on prisoners. Likely, it chafed the flesh raw.

"You’re wonderful at this, you know.” He also made a wonderful view, but you weren’t about to tell him as much.

"Thank you.“

"Now that you’re done, I need an excuse to stay,” you teased. He blushed, and you could feel heat of your own rushing to your face. “What do you say to a duel? Or are you too scared?”

�� Will smiled and climbed up into the rafters. “I had to keep them up here,” he explained. “The smith doesn’t know I have them.” When he returned to the ground, he held two of the wooden swords you used to fight with as children. It was a sweet reminder of how things had once been.

You accepted the sword he handed you. It was heavier than you remembered, but not too bad. You tossed it between hands, judging its feel.

When you took up your position en garde, all the old memories came back. The smell of the shop as you, Will, and Elizabeth fought. The smack of wood against wood, the heat of the stuffy building. Dust constantly getting in your eyes.

When Will lunged at you, you were more than ready. You parried, though he was stronger than he had been as a boy, and you had to take a step back.

You retaliated with an attack of your own. Body sideways, you struck out, fully meaning for the blow to be blocked. It was, and you jabbed at him a few more times. The fourth strike in, you whipped the blade down and hit Will on the knee.

William was quick to even the score. He was good with a blade, you noted. He drove you back a few steps before feigning left and striking you on your right rib. It smarted, but it wasn’t likely to bruise.

You didn’t have much hope fighting against him anymore. He hit you a number of places, always softly. You were thankful for it. Still, you continued to fight, but between your skirts and lack of practice, you did a dismal job.

After a time, you called for a halt, breathing heavily. You hadn’t had any form of exercise in a long time. Being a lady didn’t allow for such activities. You leaned on the sword. Will looked happier than you’d seen him in the past month, not that you’d seen him much.

There was a sheen of sweat on his brow, but he wiped it off. You were in much worse shape. He didn’t mention it, and he didn’t seem to mind. You sat on some chairs at the end of the room.

"Just like old times,“ you said.

"Like old times, but I’m stronger than you are now.” He smiled sheepishly. “I seem to remember getting knocked over a lot when we were younger.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. He was right; as children, you and Elizabeth had often fought on the same team against him. He hadn’t stood a chance. “And I seem to remember that this was easier. When did you get so good at this?”

"I practice every day. I don’t always have things to work on, so I spend my time using the swords I’ve made. It might come in handy someday.“

"I hope it doesn’t.” You looked into his eyes. “For your sake. I wouldn’t want to see you hurt.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That’s what the practice is for.”

You shoved him lightly on the shoulder. Just then, a loud knock on the door came followed by a slurred curse. Will looked at you, eyes dark.

"He’s back,“ Will said, referring to the man he was apprenticed to. "I suppose you have to go.”

"Yes. I’ll see you soon.“ Impulsively, you wrapped your arms around him, giving him a light hug. He was too surprised to return the gesture, but you took it as a sign of embarrassment. Hopefully he appreciated it. You would hate to think he didn’t want it.

You returned home. You spent the next week thinking of Will and trying not to. If your family noticed your distracted state, they said nothing. Your feelings for Will had been thoroughly rekindled. It didn’t help that you were of two different social classes. There was nothing worse than thinking that you couldn’t have him; no matter how you felt; so you avoided the thought entirely.

You were taking a walk through town to refresh yourself when you stumbled upon him again. It had been purely on accident; the walk was meant to get him out of your mind.

"Will! How nice to see you,” you said. “What brings you out this late?”

"The fort wanted new shackles as soon as possible. I’ve just finished them.“

You noticed the basket he carried under one arm. "Oh. Could I accompany you?”

"Of course.“ He scratched the back of his neck before offering you an arm. You walked towards the fort together, and you tried to ignore the heat of his arm under his shirt.

"How are you lately?” You tried to strike up conversation to make the walk less awkward.

"I-I’ve had a lot on my mind,“ he stuttered.

"Oh.” You furrowed your eyebrows. “What’s bothering you?”

"I shouldn’t trouble you with it.“

"It would be no trouble at all!” You hesitated before saying, “I’m not being nosey, am I?”

"No!“ He coughed. "Of course not. But it’s not that important.”

"I don’t believe you.“

He looked at you helplessly. It made your stomach jump into your throat. What couldn’t he tell you? It couldn’t be that he was thinking of you.

Could it?

"Will, you can tell me anything.” You could hear how unsteady your voice was.

"It’s not-not something to be shared.“

He turned away from you, but you kept ahold of his arm, gently pulling him back towards you. "Will…”

You were much closer to him than you had intended to be. You couldn’t help but glance at his lips. He didn’t pull away, and slowly, you leaned closer.

His eyes fell to the ground. He moved his hands to your arms, keeping you back. “Y/N.” His voice was barely a whisper. It was the first time he’d used your first name. “We can’t. I’m a blacksmith.” He looked at you apologetically.

"I’m sorry.“ You were appalled. You hadn’t meant to do anything, and now he knew how you felt. He hadn’t been thinking of you after all. You meant to pull back from him, but his hands on your arms kept you in place.

"It’s not that I don’t want it,” he breathed. “I-I’ve fancied you since we were children. But…”

His words came as a shock. “You have?”

"I thought you wouldn’t feel the same way.“

"I do.” Saying it made it feel more real, somehow.

"Yet we can’t be together.“

You cupped his cheek with a hand. "We can. It’s not like I come from an immensely wealthy family. I’m not Elizabeth. I’m an orphan, just like you, and I’ll hardly come into anything at all.”

"All the more reason for you to be with someone else. You need someone who can take care of you. Someone who can keep you comfortable.“

You laughed. "I would rather be happy than comfortable. Besides, didn’t I play in the dirt with you as a child? Did I ever balk at how you lived?” You brought your other hand up to his face. “Will, you were never any less than anyone else. You aren’t less than anyone else. Not to me.”

"Y/N…" Will leaned closer to you, closing the gap between you. Gently, he pressed his lips to yours, and you dug the fingers of one hand into his hair. The other you kept on his cheek.

He broke away, only to kiss you again a moment later. It was slow and careful, and you wouldn’t have asked for anything else. How many times had you pictured the moment in your head? And yet it was better than anything you could’ve thought up.

You stood with bodies close, eyes closed, basking in the feel of one another.

The basket of irons was duly forgotten.

#potc #drabble #writing #fanfic #pirates #pirate #pirates of the caribbean #william turner #will turner #request

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turnaboutwriter · 6 years

Text

half in hearts

Pairing(s): Terra/Aqua, Terranort/Aquanort, implied one-sided Xemnas/Aquanort, we can add in Terranort/Aqua, Terra/Aquanort, and Xemnas/Aqua for good measure, though frankly i don’t know anymore this is all so confusing it’s really late in the night

Rating: Teen, just to be safe.

Summary: Aquanort has brought to the Castle That Never Was by Xemnas and Master Xehanort as the newest Seeker of Darkness. Terranort is surprised, but is intrigued to see his “friend.” Featuring an Aquanort, Terranort, Venitas family dynamic (with a small side of Young Xehanort). Oneshot. Takes place somewhere in the middle of Kingdom Hearts 3.

This can also be found on AO3 and FFn.

Notes: Thank you to @mimiplaysgames for sending me this prompt. Unfortunately, I utterly and hopelessly strayed away from it, because I got so carried away when writing this. I’m so sorry about that, but I hope this fills your terraqua shipping heart. ALSO, important to remember which Xehanort I am referring to: “Master Xehanort” = Old Man Xehanort “Young Xehanort” = Young Time-Traveling Xehanort “Xehanort” = Terranort (It felt wrong to call him Xehanort, so I stuck to pronouns when referring to him even though this who damn thing is in his POV fuck me)

The title was thought up of on a whim so it is subjected to change also you cannot pry always hungry, growing boys, young xehanort and venitas out of my hands i will die with them

Xehanort was surprised, to say the very least, when old Master Xehanort and Xemnas brought her to the Castle That Never Was.

The last time he saw her, he had his hands wrapped around her throat, for a reason he still cannot discern, (chalking it up to the fact that he has the hearts of both Master Xehanort and Terra within him), before she defeated him in battle. After that, he cannot remember much besides the feeling of falling into darkness, then being enveloped by a light, and then waking up in Radiant Garden to Braig and Ansem the Wise with her armor next to him, where he started out as Ansem’s apprentice, aiding him with his research on darkness lingering in hearts. That armor, however, captivated him, compelled him to keep it in the room Master Ansem had allowed him to stay in, and speak to it with his own heart. He desired to build a chamber for it, in hopes to reach the heart of his “friend” and regain his lost memories, but was brought into this future by young Xehanort before he could.

Now, she stands in behind him with her pale bluish-white hair and honey-colored eyes, donned in a black coat like his.

He leads her into the Round Room, otherwise known as Where Nothing Gathers, and, without turning around, gestures towards the marble seat in front of them. She walks in front of him to the throne-like chair, staring at it intently for a moment before sitting down.

He cannot help but smirk as she lets out a small gasp when her seat rises up a few feet, her hands tightly gripping the armrests. From next to her, Vanitas snickers, and from above them, Xigbar, too, lets out a laugh at Aqua’s reaction. Her widened, amber eyes flicker between Vanitas and Xigbar and her dark, plump lips fall open slightly in recognition. Her eyes then narrow at Xigbar.

Just as she is about to open her mouth, though, Master Xehanort calls for the meeting to convene. What a shame, he thinks to himself, as he reaches his own seat. He was curious to know what she would say to Xigbar.

Master Xehanort welcomes their newest vessel, Aqua, as one of the 13 Seekers of Darkness. Their goal is nearly within reach now, and there is no doubt that the Guardians of Light will be thrown off by the fact that Aqua is now on their side. The seekers’ next step is to have Aqua lead them to the Chamber of Waking, and extract Ventus’s sleeping heart from Sora’s so that he can rejoin with Vanitas. Though they will not be able to forge the x-blade again, they can successfully become another vessel, since, on his own, Vanitas cannot become one.

He listens to Master Xehanort’s words, but also carefully insects Aqua’s face to gauge her reactions — she disappoints, however, maintaining the same blank expression on her face throughout the entire meeting.

After the Master dismisses them, he summons a corridor of darkness and reappears by the woman’s side, slightly startling her.

She blinks, slightly disoriented — and he sympathizes with her, as he felt the exact same way at the start as well it all as well. “Why — "

“I will show you to your room,” he says simply, summoning another corridor of darkness, stepping in without glancing back at her. He feels her presence from behind him the entire time as they walk in silence. They reach a grand, dark marble hall with doors on either side of them and he leads Aqua to the end of the hall, where he finally turns around to face her, his amber eyes meeting hers. With his hand, he motions her to door to his right.

“Get rest. You have a very important mission that begins tomorrow. Master Xehanort is relying on you to bring back Ventus’s body.”

“Yes,” she answers quietly, clasping her gloved hands in front of her body, almost in prayer, which strikes him as odd.

No matter. He has no business in knowing her thoughts. He gives a curt, parting nod, and is about to retire to his own room when she speaks.

“Terra.” Her voice is soft, but not hesitant.

His eyebrows raise at the name. “My name is Xehanort.” In spite of his correction, he cannot deny that he liked hearing the name from her mouth. When he was first brought by the young Xehanort from the past, Xigbar took it to call him “Apprentice,” to distinguish him from the others, and that’s what everyone here calls him now (but he hates that that his identity has to be distinguished from others in the first place).

“Terra,” she repeats firmly, after a slight shake of her head. “Good night.”

“Rest now, Aqua.”

He finds her in the Chamber of Repose.

Xigbar suggested a gathering to celebrate the successful joining of Ventus and Vanitas’s hearts in the Gray Area, but amidst Luxord’s card tricks and the young Xehanort and Venitas (as Xigbar dubbed him) devouring all of the food in sight, Xehanort cannot find Aqua, so he and Xemnas split up to locate her. (But he hates that Xemnas finds a need to care for her.)

He guessed that she would be here and opened a corridor of darkness leading here on a whim, and thankfully, his guess was correct. But instead of sitting in the marble throne like he would have expected, she kneels next to the armor.

Ah, the armor. It makes sense that she gravitated towards it — it is hers, after all. He tried to talk to Xemnas about the armor once, but Xemnas immediately brushed it off. Understandable, since he would have done the same if it were the other way around. He hates talking to Xemnas, anyway. It’s like talking to another clone of himself, even if he is his nobody.

He feels his legs moving on their own accord, quietly bringing her to him to her. Immediately, a comforting feeling envelopes him; though it is reminiscent to when he was enveloped by the warm light before waking up in Radiant Garden to Master Ansem, the comfort gives off a much colder feeling.

Aqua does not give any indication that she is aware of Xehanort’s presence, so he reaches down to place a hand on her shoulder.

“Are … are you alright?”

Aqua moves her head around to face him with a grave face. “I try to fade into the darkness and accept it wholly, but instead, I feel it eating away at my blackened heart,” she responds bleakly, her eyes pained. “Destroying me. It feels like my existence is meaningless. I don’t know what to do.”

He is not surprised by her answer. Aqua has always had such a strong-willed heart — he wouldn’t be surprised if her heart rejecting the darkness will cause it to eat her alive in a shroud of self-hatred and desolation that would make her want to end her existence. He would have to keep a close watch on her.

“And Mickey,” her quiet voice burns with a subtle fury. “He didn’t come back for me until it was too late. He promised to return and save me, but left me in the darkness to become this. He didn’t want to save me. Was it because I wasn’t worthy of becoming a keyblade master?”

“Do not doubt your strength, Aqua. You can’t begin to realize how valuable you are. You are one of Master Xehanort’s biggest strengths.”

“Me?”

He nods. “Yes. You are one with a strong heart. You are powerful, more powerful than me and the other seekers. Most importantly, though, you are the key that will unlock our victory. Don’t be disheartened by Mickey’s actions, or lack of actions, I should say — he is a foolish mouse who undervalued your worth.”

An expression of loathing crosses her face. “You’re right … he didn’t think it was worth going into the darkness to save me.” She then begins to lift herself up from the ground, and he politely extends a hand, which she takes to use as support and gracefully gets on her feet.

The comforting feeling, which had slightly subsided, returns with a full force of other, indecipherable emotions Xehanort is not anticipating. But as quickly as she puts her hand in his, she quickly retracts it and looks away towards the exit, a similar rush of emotions hitting her as well, he is sure.

“You retained all of your memories, no?” he suddenly asks, refusing to let their sorry excuse for a conversation to end. He wants to talk to her more, now that he has finally found her.

Aqua’s eyes meet his once more as she purses her lips. “Not all. Some of my memories from the Realm of Light are hard to remember, since I was in the Realm of Darkness for so long, as well as the memories right before I offered my bo … “ Her eyes widen as she realizes her mistake, and then she shakes her head. “Before I became a vessel and a Seeker of Darkness,” she corrects herself.

He raises an eyebrow, intrigued. “I see. You offered your body as a vessel to Master Xehanort?”

For the first time, he sees emotion color her face. A good step towards her health and mental state of being. He might have to push her a little more, though. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He gives her a frown. Truly, he is displeased that she won’t open up to him. His heart may have Xehanort in it, but Terra is in his heart, too (and doesn’t she calls him “Terra” for that reason?). “Please, you can trust — ”

“I said, I don’t want to talk about it!” she snaps, her hands clenched into fists, taking an angry step towards him.

“Whoa, angry, aren’t you?” a teasing voice rings out, the sound echoing across the huge room.

Xehanort and Aqua whip their heads to the source of the voice.

Venitas’s tawny eyes glint mischievously. “Hey, come on, Apprentice, don’t annoy her too much. The old coot will get pissed if she runs off because you drove her nuts.”

He shifts his body so that he is now facing Venitas, and crosses his arms at the teenager. “Watch your language, boy.” But Aqua surprises him and Venitas by letting out a small chuckle, so faint that he barely hears it.

He thought Vanitas was a little bit of pest, but became slightly more attached to the boy after he joined with Ventus. Besides, if he puts Aqua in good spirits, how can Xehanort not like him?

Aqua doesn’t know how much time passes before she settles into a rhythm of living in the Castle That Never Was. Additionally, she has quickly realized the rhythms the other residents follow.

The old Master Xehanort, who only appears to them during their meetings, Ansem, Xemnas, who has taken an interest in her nearly as much as Terra has, and the stony-faced Isa, are usually discussing future courses of actions in the Round Room.

Xigbar and Luxord occasionally join them, but they like to lounge around in the Gray Area and make conversation with the other seekers as well. Larxene, who hangs out with them both, seems pleased that there is another female vessel, but her cunning, impish eyes indicate to Aqua that she should stay away from her.

On the other hand, Aqua, Terra, and Venitas have formed their own little group. Terra has been helping Aqua adjust to the changes her heart has been undergoing, while Venitas is there because he, too, has surprisingly grown attached to Aqua, and no longer minds the apprentice’s presence.

The quiet, young Xehanort also occasionally joins their niche for the food — otherwise, he is usually with Master Xehanort. He and Venitas are always ravenous with hunger. Aqua does not feel hungry all that often, though, and Terra reassuringly tells her that he doesn’t either. Still, an appetite-less Aqua always watches the younger boys wolf down her food, raptured.

Today, though, Venitas is being difficult.

“Venitas, your food is getting cold,” she informs him, her foot impatiently tapping against the marble flooring of the kitchen and dining area.

Venitas swings the incomplete x-blade against the air with a grunt. “Hold on a sec, Aqua!”

“It is delicious food, as always, Aqua,” the young Xehanort comments quietly, after chewing through a spoonful of his rice. “Thank you.”

Aqua nods at the older boy. “You are welcome." Then she sighs, folding her arms over her chest. "Venitas," she warns.

“Listen to Aqua, Venitas,” Xehanort tells him sternly from his seat at the table.

The boy halts his movements, keyblade midair, rolling his eyes in annoyance. “I said, give me a sec!” he growls.

Aqua’s eyes flash angrily. “Venitas, put the damn keyblade down and come here to eat your food. Now.”

Venitas balks. He sets the keyblade down onto the floor. “Fine,” he grumbles, forcefully pulling out his chair and plopping himself down on it. He may have just brushed it off, but Aqua knows that inside, he’s shaking in that suit of his, scared for his physical being. “I thought you were better than the old Aqua — she always infuriated me. I’m starting to think that you’re no different, though.” He stuffs multiple spoonfuls of rice in his mouth, chewing them all at once, much to Aqua’s disgust.

Xigbar and Luxord are the jovial ones in the group, and Larxene and Venitas have impish natures; the others rarely laugh or smile, and wouldn’t ever do so if it weren’t for those four (though, Larxene, not as much).

Later that night, Aqua has trouble falling asleep that night, and seeks Terra. The darkness is troubling her heart again. He is not in his room, or anywhere in the castle, to her surprise. There is only one other place she can think of, then, where he could have gone off to.

He crouches over her keyblade armor in the large, white chamber, one palm placed over her keyblade.

“Terra,” she murmurs softly, stepping out of the corridor of darkness and towards him. She was right.

He whirls around, slightly surprised by her presence, and Aqua lets out a gasp when she sees his dark, topaz eyes, full of intent.

“Xemnas was just here,” he states bitterly, eyes narrowing at her. “He was talking about you.”

“Oh.” She isn’t quite sure how to respond to that, especially with how threatening he looks right now.

He stands up and takes long strides across the room, and Aqua’s blackened heart beats quicker as he approaches her. He towers over her short frame.

“Do you feel something for him?”

She furrows her eyebrows in confusion. “What? No.” The darkness in her heart, though weakens her heart, gives her the courage she needs to say things she normally wouldn’t be able to bring to her lips. “It's you, Terra. It’s always been you, Ter —”

In a quick movement that she momentarily cannot register, he presses her against the back of the throne, his mouth and tongue attacking hers suddenly.

His lips feel rough against hers, and slightly warmer than his cooled ones. His hot breath mingles with hers, and she leans up on her toes so she can easily slip her fingers into his white, silky hair. When she breaks away and gasps for air, seeking repose from his rough, passionate kiss, his nose traces the shell of her ear, his lips lightly nipping at the skin there for a moment, before moving back to kiss her again.

He traps her bottom lip between his teeth and tugs once before releasing it. “Tell Xemnas to leave you be,” his chapped lips murmur then against her soft, smooth ones. “You are only Terra’s. Mine.” His lips and nose drag, tantalizingly slow, along the length of her neck, causing her to let out a small, breathless moan.

She closes her eyes and tilts back her head to give him room to kiss her collarbone. “I gave up my body as a vessel for Terra,” she whispers, her fingers threading into his hair once more. “Xehanort promised to extract his heart from Terra’s body. Only you, Terra. Not Xemnas, not anyone else, but you.”

He glances up at her from his position, and she can only imagine what he sees — her, struggling to catch her breath, her lips parted and her heavy-lidded eyes full of desire. (There is no doubt in her mind that she wants him.)

“Only me?” he breathes in shock, his eyes shining with unshed tears. Not for Xemnas, not for anyone else.

She nods, her fingers brushing against his cheek, feeling beads of moisture roll down her cheeks as well. “Only you.“

Their days leading up to the end of this dark-hearted Aqua are full of domestic living and their nights are full of passion.

He doesn’t know how the Guardians of Light were able to extract Xehanort from Aqua’s heart, but he suspects Kairi, whom he recalls from his time in Radiant Garden, had something to do with it, being a princess of light. Aqua went to Cable Town with Venitas on a mission, but when he shows up to make sure the two of them are safe, she is standing in the courtyard alone. Though her hair is still a pale whitish-blue, her eyes are once again the color of sapphire, glistening with tears.

“Aqua!” he calls out, that warm feeling surrounding him more with every step he takes towards her.

“Terra!” she cries out, running to meet him halfway, her hands immediately seeking him out as soon as she is close enough to touch him. Her embrace feels as comforting and familiar as home — Terra’s old home — but it feels wrong to him for some reason. “I’m here, Terra. I’m with you.”

Realization hits him like a brick, and it makes his chest ache in despair. He always thought, that though he has loved it when Aqua has called him Terra, he did not deserve to have been called that by her this entire time. He is only half of Terra. The other half is Xehanort. But he so easily forgot that the Aqua he had been with for the past few months was only half of Aqua, and that the other half of her Xehanort as well.

Of course, it feels wrong to hug her like this and let her call him Terra — this is the Aqua who is starting to erase any trace of Xehanort left in her heart.

He shrugs out of her embrace. “My name is Xehanort,” he says firmly. And suddenly, he is back in the long hallway of rooms, standing in front of a stubborn, unwavering Aqua.

She shakes her head and gives him a watery smile. “No … I can feel that it's you, Terra” — she places a hand over the left side of her chest — “here, in my heart. You are the one in front of me, not Xehanort.”

He stays silent, and lets her cry and hold him until she begins to lose consciousness. Whatever the outcome of this all may be, Xehanort finds himself grateful to be with her in her final moments of having the darkness in her heart.

The Terra in him yearns to join her, but the Master Xehanort that also resides in his heart fights against the pining to keep him in line and stay in the fight as a seeker.

And fight as a seeker, he will.

“Rest now, Aqua,” he croons, smoothing her hair back, which is now blue at its roots, as he sets her down onto the grassy field. His lips press to her forehead one final time before he pushes himself back up and walks away from her. Now that Aqua is back to her normal self, there is no way that Master Xehanort will extract his heart from Terra’s — this — body.

In spite of that, he will let a now wholesome Aqua return to her friends, and hope that he can one day find his way back to her, too (not as Xehanort, but as a wholesome Terra).

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solia-dreams · 6 years

Text

White Noise

I haven’t written Rey X Kylo before but they’re my kind of tortured, grey-area, should-have-a-bad-feeling-about-this-but-let’s-go-for-it-anyway pair so this came out of me today.

---

She shouldn’t have touched his hand.

Months passed and she tried not to think of him, not as she worked with his mother and her loyalists to rebuild the Rebellion, not as she found herself increasingly relied upon as a pilot in their decimated force, not as she struggled to find time to refine and practise her skills as a fledgling Jedi among her other, more pressing responsibilities. She tried not to think of him as she watched Finn and Rose grow closer, painfully sweet as they were, and she tried not to think of him as she watched Leia and Poe’s respectful warmth, more acutely aware than most of whose role Poe was filling for the grieving General.

When she kept busy, which wasn’t hard, she succeeded in forgetting him. He was licking his wounds just as surely as his First Order were, just as she and the Rebels were. It was the closest approximation of peace anyone could have hoped for so soon, both sides too weak to strike out at the other, the galaxy at a breathless standstill, wary of choosing a side in a war that could still go either way.

When she ran out of productive distractions, that was when she felt it – their connection, forged by Snoke, still unbroken despite Kylo Ren’s betrayal. She couldn’t explain it but neither could she ask anybody about it. Rarely an experience so complete as when she was on Ahch-To, she no longer found herself looking at him, talking to him, trapped in an artificial room with him while all her other senses dulled. Trapped with him in endless white noise. She was actively avoiding thinking of him, and distinctly felt he was doing the same thing, and didn’t expect that to happen again without Snoke’s intervention. Instead, it was snatches, glimpses, a feeling she couldn’t, or wouldn’t, pin down. It was a gaze catching hers unexpectedly when she zoned out during a boring briefing, gone just as soon as she blinked, startled back to her senses. It was another breath synchronised with hers when she meditated and felt for the Force, gone as soon as she opened her eyes. It was a flick of a black cloak at the edge of her vision while she trained with her staff, a flash of sizzling red in the sparks of her microtools as she frustrated herself trying to fix the Skywalker lightsaber. It was a pull when she lay dozing in the pilot seat of the Falcon, ferrying supplies for the Rebellion, a disconcerting whisper against the silence of hyperspace.

It was temptation. The first of the books she’d stolen from the island warned of this: the dark side, tugging at her soul, baiting her with what it knew she couldn’t resist.

Worst was when she slept, when she dreamed and had no control of where her mind strayed. And stray it did. Confused, conflicted feelings of anger, loneliness, fear, disappointment, admiration, hurt and curious fascination swirled unchecked inside her, taking unsettling shapes in her subconscious, playing out in imaginary scenarios that varied in inappropriateness and foolhardiness, ensuring she woke most nights gasping and ashamed with the truths of herself.

In her dreams, her memories and desires and fears coalesced murkily. She found herself in battle with him over and over, in the snow, in Snoke’s throne room, in the jungle, on the salt flat in Luke’s place. Sometimes she won. She wanted to kill Kylo Ren for what he had done to the galaxy, to Han Solo, to the Jedi Order, to her. In those dreams she played out her desire to hurt him, see those dark eyes he’d inherited from his beautiful mother widen in shock and fear of her as she bested him and brought him to his knees, right before she put her saber through his chest. Always through his heart. He never wore his mask and she never took his head; though she slashed furiously at the face that haunted her, she could never do more damage than she’d inflicted outside Starkiller Base. He gained that scar over and over, and she burnt a hole through his heart over and over, and he screamed and begged and snarled and fell and tears spilled from those eyes she could not forget until the light went out in them, over and over again, but it was never enough to quell the hatred she felt for him. There was no satisfaction to be gained in defeating him.

Other times, she lost. These dreams left her just as hollow and unsated. She fought with all she had but in these dreams, it was not enough, and he took her down. He was unreasonable, infallible, the monster she had accused him of being, and he was so much more than she, stronger and bigger and better. His moves were fast and unpredictable, his slashes hacking, his posture animalistic, his control of the Force formidable, and he found her lacking at every turn. He shamed her with his impressiveness, drawing her childish admiration of him into painful, vulnerable light. He hurt her, he tired her out, he humbled her. Sometimes she thought he was toying with her; other times, he just wanted her done with. Every time, his eyes were cold and hateful and vengeful as he kicked her feet out from under her and drove his lightsaber through her. He went for the heart, too. He cared nothing for her, not in these dreams, and she woke from them afraid, face wet with humiliated tears. She was no match.

Then were the dreams that were more memory than fantasy, where he killed his master rather than kill her, where he brought her lightsaber back to her with the faintest touch of the Force he controlled so eloquently, where he stood over her and ignited his lightsaber not to hurt her, but in preparation for the consequences of what he had done. Where his eyes watched her get to her feet, the same eyes that had just watched as she was tortured and thrown about like a useless doll, where those eyes regarded her with resignation and respect and kinship – where she had known he believed in her to be able to fight at his back and hold her own, not needing his protection, where she had known that he trusted her and she could trust him. In the dreams where she battled Snoke’s Praetorian guards with Kylo Ren, she was alive, and emboldened, and afraid and horrified by what she was doing, killing with her own hands, killing with him…

She woke from these dreams unsure, even less sure than she awoke from the make-believe dreams, because the reality was far more frightening. She had never felt the Force like she had that day, and she had let it all in – light, dark, all of it, and used it as it guided her to use it. And it had guided her into an alliance with the darkest and most dangerous man she knew, which should have made her feel guilty or wary, but instead it had felt right, and worse: it had felt like Not Alone.

It was short-lived, the goldenness of Not Alone, because then the blue blade ignited through the red guard’s helmet and Ben Solo got to his feet, and she asked one more thing of him, to throw his power around a little more, power of the kind she could only fantasise about, to rein in his armies and save the day, and he was Kylo Ren again and he let her down.

The dreams were invariably violent, but not always in this same way. There were dreams of running away, either on foot or in the Millennium Falcon, chased by his dark and menacing presence at the back of her awareness. In these dreams, her heart was in her throat, thudding with terror, knowing when he caught her, she’d be done. She ducked under fallen trees or staircases or space debris in her desperate attempts to lose him, but it was never enough. His TIE fighter swung at her from the other side and fired on her, ending the dream, or a black-gloved hand closed on her collar and dragged her out screaming into the path of a swinging red blade, or, mid-step, she suddenly froze, caught in the web of his power, powerless herself, and behind her, his footsteps crunched on the undergrowth, ever closer, ever nearer…

“Rey…”

His voice left her weak with fear, and something else. Shame? With everything he said to her, he stung her. His words were cutting, even when he didn’t mean them to be. When she heard him speak, she knew she should run, but instead she stopped and listened. Somehow, absurdly, his voice had power over her she should be strong enough to resist, but wasn’t, even just in dreams. It elicited an instant kick to her heartrate, a drop in her ambient temperature if the goose bumps were anything to go by, and a shaky longing she’d never admit to. In dreams, though they left her red-faced in the dark, she could hear again as he spoke her name, in his dangerous voice that made her quail and sent a shiver along her nerves, and to say again the things he hadn’t meant to mean as much as they had – that she was not alone, that she was no one, but not to him.

Things no one else had ever bothered to say, but which she’d always, desperately, deeply wanted to hear. How had he known?

Indulging in reflections of words that meant far more to her than to their speaker led her into spirals of self-disgust, for what kind of nobody needs her enemy’s validation to feel whole and worthy? What insufficient scum needs more than the unconditional love and acceptance of a friend and brother like Finn?

“Join me… Please.”

Kylo Ren offered no love, certainly none such as the unending, protective love she had found in the former stormtrooper who had thrown his future away for the Rebellion, and for her, but he made her feel needed, wanted; and he did not accept her as she was, as Finn did, but he understood her. He saw her.

And she desired that too completely, too fully, and in her unguarded moments, waking and dreaming, she was haunted by his eyes, seeing her, understanding what she was, wanting her on his side.

Their fingertips touching impossibly through space and time.

The shock of electricity shared between them. The Force, untempered, wild and eerie.

The intensity of his vulnerable gaze. Not Kylo Ren. Ben Solo. Or were they one and the same, indistinguishable? Which one was it in the dreams where his eyes burned into her and made her stomach flutter? Who did she imagine would drag his fingers through her hair and murmur her name against her skin?

His fingertips tracing her arm…

His breath on the back of her neck…

His low voice in her ear, forever mocking.

Tonight, it was one of these dreams.

“Go on, say it,” he breathed, poised over her, taunting her. Pinning her to the bed, stretched along her. Eyes glinting, dangerous and fierce in the terrifyingly familiar face she’d scarred. His voice made her shiver with longing, and she tried to sit forward to meet him, but he never made anything easy for her. He pushed her back down. “Say it.”

She swallowed. “Please.”

And he gave in to her.

Rey sat up in bed, gasping for air and struggling against the binding of her loose blankets, which just a moment ago had been his hands, running the length of her body under his as his mouth closed on hers, his full lips exactly as soft as they looked each time she noticed them but exactly as strong and disarming as the words they produced. She pushed the blankets from her legs and swung her arm blindly at the wall beside her bedding. A warm, soft red light grew from the sconce above her, protecting her night vision. The small cubicle she called her quarters at the new Rebel base was darkened for the two daily night cycles, one of which she used for her scheduled sleep shift. She looked around the tiny space, from her one-person bunk (containing, thankfully, only one person, despite the inclinations of the dream) to the workbench along the opposite wall where her lightsaber still lay in the glinting pieces they’d wrenched it into like spoiled children fighting over a toy, to the small mat she’d laid on the floor between. She could see nothing out of place, no signs of disturbance, no indications of another presence.

She was alert now, so there would be no whisper, no flick of black cloak, no unexpected loaded gaze. But she still breathed deeply until she had control of her insane pulse, and listened, and looked, and waited, just in case.

She was pathetic.

She lowered her head into her hands with a groan, feeling sick. Who was she? The Rey of her dreams was variably a vicious murderer, a failure, a victim and a traitor. Her skin felt clammy and slick, and she dug the heels of her hands into her eyes when she felt them start to sting with the threat of tears. This had to stop but she felt out of control. These psychotic dreams of killing, kissing, hurting, fearing, wanting her greatest enemy, himself a murderer and a traitor but also her heroes’ son, they couldn’t be the product of a healthy, stable mind.

As much as she hated him, she admired him and desired his respect and attention. She wanted to kill him as much as she wanted to trust him at her back and feel the Force guiding them as one incredible unit. In sync with his every move, protecting his back as he fended off the majority of their foes, knowing he was protecting hers, feeling his motions before he shifted, ducking below his blade before he could swing it, tapping into the intentions of those intending to do him harm and blocking their weapon’s path before they could, intensely aware of the way the Force surged through him in the forms of passion and adrenaline, not fear and anger as she’d assumed, she’d felt connected, intimately connected, to another person. He was right in what he’d said, that she was lonely, and searching for family in everyone she met. In Han Solo she’d found a hero but not a dad; in Luke Skywalker, a legend but not a role model; in Leia Organa, a mother’s warmth but not a mother’s need. Poe Dameron had filled the gap Ben Solo had left in the general – the loss of either of these boys would be what destroyed Leia, not the loss of Rey.

She wanted to know him and be known by him, like nobody had ever let her know them or bothered to know her. They were the only two left, the only ones out there like the other. Two halves. Did she want him like these most disturbing of dreams suggested? She hoped not, refused to analyse them or give them any credibility. They made her feel unwell. The dreams were psychosexual, she told herself, metaphors for the powerplay between them. Domination. Submission. Winning, losing. Manipulation. Need. Desire. Fear.

She wasn’t worthy of Luke’s tutelage. She saw that now. Whether the hand of the dark side or of Kylo himself, she still fell into the same mistakes every night.

So it surprised her every night that he pretended not to know how troubled and pathetic and absurdly conflicted she was, and he afforded her the benefit of the doubt he had not afforded his own nephew. Faintly blue around his edges, transparent, he appeared cross-legged on the mat on her floor after every nightmare, beard tidy and trimmed like she’d not known in life, haggard face revitalised with spirit, eyes bright and patient and kind and optimistic like the boy his sister Leia remembered.

But not Luke Skywalker, the farm boy from Tatooine.

Not Luke Skywalker, the legend.

Not Luke Skywalker, the bitter old recluse.

Luke Skywalker, Jedi Master, at peace. And what peace he brought her with his timing every night, balancing her sickened queries of self-worth and her place in the galaxy with his steady presence and his steady, determined failure to ask about the dreams or pass any sort of judgement for what he must already know.

“So,” he asked, “shall we continue with Lesson Three?”

Rey smiled in spite of herself. Lesson Three, it turned out, encompassed everything about the Force and the Jedi Luke had left out in the first two very minimalist, very reluctant lessons on Ahch-To. She pushed herself off the bed onto the mat opposite him, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and pushing her damp hair from her sweaty forehead. Pushing Kylo Ren, Ben Solo, whoever he was and everything her weak subconscious had attached to him, from her thoughts with more strength than she possessed in her lonely, susceptible solitude.

Lesson Three and Luke didn’t make her feel needed or wanted or understood, but Luke, lofty now in his higher plane, could not be said not to see her. He gave her the things he couldn’t in life – patience, time, knowledge, wisdom – the things he understood and could see that she needed. He made her feel grounded. In control.

Like a Jedi.

“Yes,” she agreed firmly. “Please.”

---

I might write more, not sure yet. I needed to redeem Luke a little and explore my Reylo fascination. Hope you enjoyed it!

#tlj fanfiction #tlj spoilers #reylo #star wars fanfiction #rey x kylo ren

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oveliagirlhaditright · 4 years

Text

Reupload of an old fic of mine.

Author's Note: An alternate ending to KHIII, where Kairi is conscious when Xehanort summons her to kill her, and so gets to cleverly escape and be a part of the ending.

Though this isn't the "completely happy ending story" (I already wrote that fic), as Sora still disappears in the end (but not via death), because Joshua needs his help, etc. So it's just a temporary goodbye between Sora and Kairi.

Canon AU, Universe Alteration, Kind of Not Canon Compliant, but also is?

The Sun Sets

Kairi's PoV

Kairi stood above a cliff—staring at her dear friends, as she did so—whilst Xehanort was about to kill her.

And she could already see the pain she'd cause Sora, and it was unbearable.

But as Xemnas had dislocated her shoulder—and she could barely even move for all the pain—there wasn't much she could do.

Unless… she remembered what Naminé had told her Xehanort had done to win against Terra in the Keyblade Graveyard in the past.

He'd made him look, hadn't he?

It was the oldest trick in the book, but maybe it would work for Kairi. Perhaps.

And as it stood, it was her only chance.

"Xehanort, look! The worlds are already returning to darkness, just like you want, since you've already cut me," Kairi tried to trick the monster.

The Princess of Heart remembered what Master Yen Sid had said, about the world giving way to darkness if she or any of the other princesses fell.

So now Kairi was acting as though the blood loss he'd just given her was enough to kill her, and that the worlds were already acting accordingly.

"KAIRI!" the princess heard her prince exclaim her name.

And it hurt so much, that Kairi no longer regretted that she'd had to wait for him. And she would feel the pain from that a hundred times over, if Sora never had to endure this.

And there was something in his voice that seemed to indicate he had had to more than once.

But what she'd done had worked!

And when Kairi would look back on this moment many years later, she still wouldn't believe it.

But now that this miracle had occurred for her, Kairi wasted no time in acting:

Her right side was gravely injured from all that Xemnas and Xehanort had done to her—and it didn't help that Kairi thought the old "Master" had put some sort of sleep spell on her that had yet to take effect—so that left but one option:

So she jumped from the cliff ledge.

Kairi knew well that in her condition, the fall could kill her as easily as Xehanort wanted to.

But at least this way, she'd have a fighting choice.

And if nothing else, Sora and Riku wouldn't have to see her be taken away from them by a mad man.

Feeling as though her legs had snapped—as Master Xehanort growled in rage, and Sora and Riku screamed her name—Kairi landed beside a piece of shrubbery. Something that already seemed to do wonders for her injuries: though maybe it was just in her head.

But what did do the trick for her, was that Donald and Goofy joined the fray at that exact moment.

Donald healed Kairi the moment he saw her—which she couldn't have been more grateful for if she tried. Sora always joked that the duck never cured him, but the redhead thought she could've kissed him now—and Goofy threw a panacea her way, that rescued her from any of status effect she might have had.

But she barely had a chance to breathe, before Xehanort leapt down to where she was and banged his Keyblade against the one Kairi had just risen up.

Kairi sighed, noting the flower petals that had floated from Destiny's Embrace at this clash—and tried to use a bit of her magic, to turn them into fire that would hurt him.

But she wasn't the only one who had a sword in this mix:

No.

Sora, looking more murderous than Kairi had seen him before, had his Kingdom Key wedged between their two blades now.

"Get. Away. From. My. Kairi. Now, Xehanort!"

And as the Keyblade bearer said the words—he shot a summoning spell to his side with his free hand, and summoned Simba (or Kairi assumed, from all the stories Sora had told her about the lion).

Kairi marveled at this spectacle, despite herself—all while she tried to kick at Xehanort's body with her feet, as she jumped into the air.

The jungle cat jumped this way and that, causing Xehanort to be caught in a field of flames.

And Riku was now behind the old geezer—preparing to perform Dark Aura at the back of his head, Kairi could tell.

And Mickey? He was trying to let his heart be his guiding key, and let it send away the hearts in Kingdom Hearts the way it had happened with Ansem's encoder.

All was going well—and should have gone well—but when Kairi thought the battle might have been won, she noticed something.

The thirteenth Keyblade had still been forged: That had happened the moment that Xehanort had struck his Keyblade with hers. And Sora joining in had only made certain it would happen.

And now… Now Kairi was seeing a wolf in the place of Xehanort… and a towering city of white buildings?

And Simba, whatever the reason, had disappeared just like that.

"What the-" Kairi uttered, pointing her Keyblade at the town and preparing to try and do a Stop spell at it if need be: She had the feeling that this location was something that Xehanort wanted.

Donald and Goofy must have sensed it, too, for they came to Kairi's side and put their hands on her shoulders for moral support.

And finally, Xehanort seemed to notice Kairi and the threat that she was.

He got in front of the blocky buildings, as if he wanted to go there. But he also drifted to the side away from them, as if he was trying to avoid them as if his life depended on it.

He was powering up a Dark Firaga to blast at her, Kairi saw.

But before he could, Kairi reached something other than Stop.

"Thunder!" the princess cried, remembering what Sora had said about meeting the King of the Gods, and how his lightning bolts had made Sora's Thundaga look like sparks.

Kairi had no doubt that her pitiful magic that she'd only just learned was even worse than that, but if it protected her and maybe seemed to stop Xehanort… she would do it.

Kairi screamed, as she thought back on the electricity in her own life to give the Thunder mana some weight:

When Riku had shown her snowfall on the Island for the first time… Axel letting her try the zany taste that was sea salt ice cream… the way that Sora had just looked at her when she'd saved him.

And she imagined bad things, too: What it had been like to be cast out into the worlds, to lose her heart, and sit there waiting for her two friends.

"Ah-AHH!"

Kairi must have blacked out after this, because the next thing she would see would be a flash of black on the door she'd just witnessed that led to… "Scala Ad Caelum"? That's what a voice in the back of her head seemed to be whispering now.

And Xehanort was… gone. Xehanort had been raising her chin up via her hair, so he could stab her throat.

And yet, he was no longer around Kairi. And she was instead lying on her back, looking up at Sora, Riku, Donald, Goofy, King Mickey, and even Axel, Aqua, Ventus, Roxas, and that girl Xion.

"Wh-what happened?" Kairi asked—feeling as though she hadn't had a drink in days, as Sora sat her up (almost into his arms), and Riku patted her back some.

"Gosh, Kairi. I don't know," the king admitted—awkwardly kicking one shoe this way and that, as he tried to make sense of the impossible situation. "I talked to Riku and the others, and we'd planned ta try an' trap Xehanort in Scala Ad Caelum: The place that we all saw for a second there… But we didn't even summon it. It just appeared… I don't get it. But now Xehanort's there, and-"

"And he's happy about it… at least partly," Kairi guessed, remembering a certain look she'd seen in his eyes before everything had turned to nothing.

And Sora must have known it, too, if the way he groaned beside Kairi and leaned into her some—as if to agree—meant anything.

Funny, how attune they were to each other now… But maybe sharing a paopu fruit would do that to you.

"Whatever you guys thought," Sora spoke up then, sounding so pained then that Kairi thought she might die for it.

Gosh, who had done this to her baby and how could she kill them for it?

And was it her… or did it sound like her lazy bum was going to sacrifice himself here? If he was planning on i-

"Sora!" Both Kairi and Riku said at the same exact time. And if the way Donald and Goofy's mouths were opening now was any indication, they'd been about to speak up themselves.

"It isn't going to work! It's a good starting point, probably, and I'll go face him there… But you need to come up with… something else."

Sora was right.

Kairi was well aware that he was.

And so was everyone else, with every fiber of their being. But whatever the real solution was, she didn't know.

And precious time was ticking away.

The sky itself was beginning to turn the ghastly green of the X-Blade she'd seen in Xehanort's hands.

"What should we-"

But Riku cut Kairi off, smirking, as he seemed to share some sort of inside joke with Sora. "Something like 'consume the darkness, return it to light'? I think I may have an idea. But I'll need Terra's help with it.

"Sora, you go and hold Xehanort off from doing whatever he wants to with Kingdom Hearts. We've got the rest covered."

Kairi felt awful leaving Sora to do this alone—it reminded her of Traverse Town all over again, and she'd done everything she could think of to keep that from happening once more—but what could she do?

Apparently her group going to try and free someone named "Eraqus" from Terra, so he could reach his out to his old friend.

And Kairi's companions thought they'd need the light of a Princess of Heart to help find that other spark within Terra.

So Kairi ended up aiding in this as much as she could…

Even though she felt like Ven and Aqua were still doing most of the work here: Those who actually knew Eraqus and could soothe Terra during this difficult encounter.

But all the same… Kairi did think she nearly died from this once, twice, maybe three times.

Ven and Aqua were fading fast: Those without hearts of pure light weren't meant to do this kind of work. And Ventus' heart was only artificially that way…

So to keep them from disappearing, Kairi was giving them some of her light… but it was draining her a dangerous level to do so.

And if it hadn't been for King Mickey healing her, Kairi didn't know what she would have done.

"I… I got it," Terra asserted at last—as he woke up peacefully, and Ven and Aqua snapped awake beside him.

At this, Kairi got up groggily—but with a smile on her face, all the same—and allowed Mickey to help her to her feet.

And it was a good thing she got back to Scala Ad Caelum's door when she did, because Roxas and Xion were chomping at the bit in trying to get to Sora to help. And in the end, it was only Lea that kept them from getting themselves killed.

"Do you guys wanna die?" the pyromaniac demanded: his hands on his hips, as he shook his head somewhere between a dad and an older brother. "I can hear what they're all screamin' in there: Xehanort just turned Sora into his anti-form. And if he can do that to Lighty McLight Boy, what can he do to you guys? When you have no darkness in your hearts from all you went through? We still have to play it by ear."

"Yeah!" Kairi agreed, playfully swatting Roxas on the back of the head once—the way she might have Sora—and putting an arm around Xion, as she leaned into her to let her know how much this… sister of hers was going to mean to her. "None of you are falling to darkness on our watch. Right, Axel?"

But just as Kairi said that, Mickey was pointing to Scala Ad Caelum and signaling that they should go in now.

Of course: Just after she and Axel had said "no".

Sometimes, Kairi really thought her entire life was a series of simple-minded stunts that always turned against her.

But there was no time for that now…

No: Kairi needed to climb atop Riku's back—like he was motioning her to do now—and let him take her to Scala Ad Caelum.

The place had turned topsy-turvy like Wonderland, Kairi could already see.

And since she hadn't learned glide like Sora and a few of the others had, she knew she'd have no way of traversing the floating homes unless she let Riku use Flowmotion with her.

And she did.

On one hand, what she and Riku were now doing was beautiful—just barely seeing the blue lights they caused this way, and floating in the air the way dandelion seeds might in the wind.

But it was also a punch in the gut, and made Kairi want to double over in pain the way that going through Corridors of Darkness had. But she pushed on for Riku, all the same.

And it was just as Riku had latched onto a flagpole to pull them both to the platform jus above them, that Kairi had a sense of dread.

…She could feel Sora, in more pain then he had ever been in his life, and he was also positively exhausted.

It was enough to make her want to retch, and for tears to sting at her eyes.

And Riku must have felt her stressing above him, because he just questioned: "Kairi?"

And she wanted to reassure him. She did: Because Riku was her best friend, and she wanted him to know—as they both fretted over Sora—that he'd at least always have her if something happened, but she decided to act before sparing any words.

From this vantage point, Kairi could see Sora was on his last legs—Donald and Goofy, too—and Xehanort was aiming at him with the X-Blade.

And Kairi jumped their way before she even knew what she was doing.

But she tugged on Riku's hand first, to let him know he should follow her… but after that, Kairi was kicking the X-Blade out of Xehanort's hands—cutting her legs on the weapon to do so—and sending it flying into Sora's hand.

"It- it's over, Xehanort", Kairi promised then, when she'd found her voice again:

It just seemed like something Sora would say. And since he wasn't filling the void right now—though he was giving her a sort of appraising look—she thought she had to.

"Sor-"

But he didn't seem to see Kairi at all.

Instead, Sora had the X-Blade pointed at a fearful looking Master Xehanort, and was looking at the older man with the utmost disgust.

"You made me lose, Kairi… And you've done so much other harm, that I should kill you right now."

And this attitude of Sora's took Kairi aback, because she'd always thought that Sora showed his enemies mercy—even when they behaved in such a way.

Despite everything, Xehanort hadn't really hurt her today. And Kairi was even about to tell Sora as much…

But the way Sora was acting now… it was like Xehanort had hurt him more than anything or anyone else ever could, and that's why he'd lost it.

And if the way Sora was holding the X-Blade now was any indication—in the kind of back-handed way that Ven did—it was true. (1)

Ventus had been a part of Sora… so him now holding the X-Blade like this said everything.

But the fact he was carrying it like Ven, also related that it was really him who had a bone to pick with Master Xehanort.

"Sora," Kairi began, taking in his now odd white outfit.

But just as Kairi voiced his name, the X-Blade came toppling out of Sora's hands and shattered into a million pieces.

And it was after that had happened that Riku found them.

He wasted no time asking what was going on when he came their way—something Kairi would always appreciate—and instead put himself between them and Master Xehanort.

In a lot of ways, it reminded Kairi of when he'd shielded them before Ansem the Wise had died…

"Xehanort, you're not gonna hurt my friends now, just because they destroyed the X-Blade. You're just not."

And Kairi knew that Xehanort had been about to attempt exactly that.

The way that he had his eyes on Sora now, rather than her, had Kairi afraid in a way she never had been before. She just couldn't put her finger on why…

Before Kairi could stop herself, she took both of Sora and Riku's hands into her own:

The best thing she'd ever seen her friends do was team attacks, after all.

And though Kairi wasn't sure if she was skilled enough to do that with her boys just yet, she knew she had to try.

The Light tried to draw out the spark of life that existed in all three of them.

And as she felt her heart beating at a faster and faster rhythm, Kairi thought she was probably succeeding, and about to do her own version of Dark Impulse, but a Light one. She'd call it "Holy".

"No!" Kairi heard Aqua warn her, the second she'd begun working at this.

And when Kairi would look back at on it all later, she would assume it was because Terra and Eraqus had showed up on the scene now and Eraqus could have spoken to his old friend.

But it was too late.

Kairi magic struck Eraqus' temple just when he'd approached, and something else transpired because of it… Something none of them ever could have counted on.

A woman a bit older than Aqua—probably about Queen Minnie's age, Kairi would guess—ended taking up the entire area as a massive ghost.

She had long, brunette hair… A white tank top, and a brown skirt.

And Eraqus was bowing to her at once, and Terra followed suit because of it—unable to stop himself, Kairi could see.

"Master Hakanaidesu!"

Mickey also looked at this woman wide-eyed, in clearly knowing who she was.

And Kairi was about to ask the king the obvious question, the way she was sure Sora and Riku had bombarded him with query time and time again… but she refrained from it, when she noted that Master Xehanort was looking as though he was seeing the gods for the first time.

Flying over to him, and taking his face between her hands, Hakanaidesu was much gentler with Xehanort than Kairi would have been if he had murdered her the way, Kairi was about to here Xehanort had his old Master.

"Xehanort, you killed me… Despite everything. And I can almost even understand why you would, even aside from the obvious… But you've lost. The X-Blade has shattered. What else would you do to forge it?

"Come with Eraqus and me where second chances are given: in the one thing you've always wanted. Kingdom Hearts."

And if Hakanaidesu hadn't said the last bit about Kingdom Hearts, Kairi didn't think Xehanort ever would have gone.

But at his closing, he seemed to decide he'd seen enough of this world, and that death was the next great frontier:

For he slapped an arm around his brother Eraqus' shoulder—as Eraqus smiled, and shed one single tear—and then they both took their Master's hands the way pupils should. Eraqus looked more thankful than anything, and then they were both gone.

Kairi completely missed their movement to the Beyond.

But she thought this was probably for the best, since those alive weren't meant to see what death looked like… Not yet, anyway.

Everyone was jumping and cheering now—much like they had when they'd defeated Xemnas that last time—as they'd won.

And the multi-verse was going to be okay: They hadn't allowed Xehanort to reset the world like he'd wanted to.

Kairi turned to Sora with a grin on her face—wanting to share this section of her life with him most of all—she was preparing to kiss him on the cheek, because she had been waiting for the right moment to do so, but…

But Sora didn't allow it, surprising Kairi.

And if she really had to stop and think about it, she would have said he seemed a bit… off.

Before Kairi had been able to catch Sora's cheek with her lips, Sora caught her in his arms—halting her action—and allowing them to share the most intimate hug they ever had, since they both meant to hold onto each other this time.

Every other time they had hugged, it had been of necessity: Sora catching her as she'd lost her heart and to keep her from falling at the Castle That Never Was… her protecting Heartless him from the other Shadows, and then Sora saving her from Terra-Xehanort recently.

The only other time had been when Kairi had wanted him so badly in the Castle That Never Was—and hadn't been able to fight against embracing him there—but Sora had acted somewhat awkwardly then. And Kairi couldn't blame him for it, since they hadn't said how they'd felt at that point.

"Kairi… I'll make sure we don't end up like Xehanort and Hakanaidesu. Or anywhere close to it. I swear. We're going to be healthy together—and safe with one another—and even if there are some hiccups along the way… We'll find each other in the end. I swear."

So Sora had noticed it, too… That there had been some sort of inappropriate relationship between Xehanort and his Master that she had cited, and that it was—perhaps—one of the reasons he'd fallen…

Twisting her finger in Sora's for a pinky promise—that felt so natural to her, that Kairi could almost sing for the comfort of it—she gave her lazy bum her thoughts on it all: "Of course I know that, silly. We're always going to fine… And you'll always be good to me. Why would you even think differently for a second?

"But enough about 'us' for the moment, Sora. I don't want to alienate everyone. So what do you say we invite everyone home, and give them the beach party they've always wanted?"

There was something in Sora's eyes then:

It seemed to her, like someone who looked and looked for an optical illusion… only to eventually see it, and realize it had been there all along.

"Yeah. Let's go," Sora said, grinning bigger than Kairi had ever seen him do before. But there was some form of tightness in his eyes, as well.

And Kairi's prince held her hand in his—racing with her out of Scala Ad Caelum, and from the Keyblade Graveyard to the gummi ship.

Unlike when they had headed out to the gummi ship when Hollow Bastion had been overrun by Heartless, Sora didn't let go of Kairi at all.

And she took whatever solace she could find in that.

…

Sora and Kairi sat together on the gummi ship trip home, after they'd revived Naminé and had gotten Hayner, Pence, and Olette—and Sora wouldn't leave Kairi's side for an instant, and was actually allowing Donald to fly—and while Sora seemed against letting Kairi's lips touch him for whatever reason, he was gently kissing her cheek and neck whenever the others weren't looking.

Kairi was glad for the attention—she was finally ready for this kind of thing—but she didn't know what to make of it:

So she'd lean into it here and there, but more than anything she was working on a sodoku puzzle.

Every now and then, Sora would pipe up and tell Kairi where she had put a wrong number. And Kairi couldn't help noting just how much smarter he'd gotten.

"I'm impressed with you, Sora," Kairi announced after the fifth time this happened, knowing that after everything they'd been through—and how she'd teased him in the past—he deserved the compliment. "You really aren't my lazy bum anymore. Not that you have been for a while… But thank you for growing, and somehow making your heart even better than it had been before."

Kairi blushed at the end of her declaration, since this level of honesty with Sora was still new to her. But she tried to keep her eyes locked on his all the same, so that he knew she really meant it.

It was at this point that they reached the Islands.

And Sora—who had been content to let Donald pilot until now—charged into the cockpit, and began steering the ship even faster to their home.

…He missed crashing into the sea completely, only by a hare's breadth.

And Sora landed the ship on the water… Which probably wasn't a good thing, since there was no such thing as a "water landing". That was just code for "accident".

Now, most everyone was going to have to go out the door and into the water—which wouldn't be pleasant for many's outfits, but it seemed that Sora wasn't going to give Kairi that kind of fate.

Instead, he led Kairi to the hatch on the top of the bird and let them platform down onto the sand.

And Kairi thought it said a lot about her training that she wasn't even winded after it.

She was about to celebrate with Olette that she was now part of the romantic story—as the other girl began building a sand castle beside her—but Kairi realized that she wanted to take Sora somewhere, the way he just had her:

She needed to gleefully run around like they were on their honeymoon, too

So to the paopu tree it was—the place that their destinies had become intertwined, that Kairi needed to thank for seeing them to safety.

At first, Sora seemed hesitant to go there.

But when Kairi cheekily asked him if he was afraid to fall off the tree and into the water, like he had when they were kids, he balked up.

For a while, everything was perfect.

Sora and Kairi held hands as they watched their friends goof off, and she leaned her head against Sora's like she had wanted to at Kingdom Hearts all those years ago. (2)

The princess even finally kissed his cheek some. And Sora allowed it… but he seemed somewhat pained for it.

And it was only after he'd made sure their fingers were completely laced that Sora told her his piece.

"The truth, Kairi? …Where do I even begin? I don't even want to admit it… But I lived through this Keyblade War before… And I recently time traveled back there—back here—so I could change things.

"…That bastard murdered you the first and second time… But this one, I finally stopped it from happening. And Kairi, I'm so so glad for it…

"But now, now I have to go to the places I went after the- after the first time. I promised Joshua that I would, because I need to go there in each timeline that I make it to this point. Because- well, just because… But you can't go, since you couldn't before… So I'll be seeing you later, Kairi, but it's not goodbye. It's never goodbye."

And after this word vomit of Sora's, that she let him fully get out before she let herself react—or to think to ask questions—Kairi couldn't help but to sob.

This all explained a lot of Sora's past behavior, didn't it?

They saw Scala Ad Caelum before it had truly appeared, because they had subconscious memories of the last timeline.

And Sora's reaction to Xehanort about her… was because Xehanort had killed her before… And that death of hers was why Sora was unwilling to let her go, and seeming to want to spend all the time together that they could…

And Sora wanted to touch her because he'd lost that chance forever before… but he didn't want Kairi to touch him back, because he didn't want that until things were finally right between them again.

He also must have wanted to stay away from the paopu tree… Because something bad had happened here before, huh?

"…Then I failed you. Didn't I, Sora? I didn't help in the fight at all! But was really just a hindrance. Like you'd always feared?"

And Sora seemed so flabbergasted by this statement of hers, that he almost even let her kiss him—Kairi could tell—because he couldn't move.

Which was good. Kairi now needed to kiss every inch of his skin that she could find, to gain some form of comfort.

But when Kairi's lips had gone to his hand, Sora raised her head up so their foreheads were leaning against each other and he could reassure her. "No, Kairi. You were brilliant. You always have been… But in turning the clock, I can see that even moreso now…

"I've just gotta go be someone else's champion for the moment. But we'll be together again soon. Maybe they'll choose you to be their champion too, I mean."

Kairi doubted that, given how badly she must have done with her first attempt at the War. But maybe with what she had done now, someone would see something within her.

And if it was all Kairi could hope for now, it was how she would hope.

She bit down the need to scream at everyone for some help here, and gave Sora his temporary goodbye that he needed for now.

"… So I'll see you when the sun rises again, Sora." And if Kairi placed a hickey under the chain of the crown necklace she'd given to him, so he'd always know he had to return home to his princess, she thought it was only fitting.

"See you then, Kairi. And forever after that."

And Kairi saw a brighter light than she ever had in her life, as Sora seemed to change form—into a god, almost?—and disappeared in an icy blue beam.

Author's Note: (1) Sora's about to kill Xehanort for murdering Kairi. But he knows it isn't right, or him, so he sort of latches onto his connection with Ven to remember other people have a vendetta against Xehanort, too. And that if they aren't going to go that far with him, neither will he.

(2) Reference to the KHIFM box art.

The stuff with Master Hakanaidesu is a little bit inspired by Phoenix-Downer giving Xehanort and Eraqus a female Master in her story "Those Who Dreamed", and having Xehanort kill her. But really, I just didn't want to completely copy the scene with Xehanort and Eraqus the game gave us (and in my opinion, it shouldn't have been exactly the same since Sora had now changed things). So I had to come up with something close, but not exactly he same. And this whole story was what I thought of.

I was also being vindictive, and not letting Xehanort be redeemed by (mostly) good Eraqus, but someone who'd been a bit crappy herself. Yep.

Also, IIRC, Hakanaidesu means "fleeting" in Japanese. And I chose that because her existence was fleeting, and she had a fleeting affair with Xehanort, etc.

And in case it isn't clear, the canon ending didn't work in this story for whatever reason. Kairi became Sora's Entry Fee and he lost the Game and lost her, or something, so he had to find another way to save her. Time travel it was (with him possessing himself that was at the War)! And he fails at his first attempt, but succeeds in what we see here.

And Xehanort somehow knows that Sora leads to his downfall, so that's why he's afraid of him and Scala Ad Caelum at times and also starts gunning for him here.

After all is said and done, Sora basically has to go join "Dissidia", I'm calling it (because TWEWY, Verum Rex, and whatever with the Master of Masters)—or the episode of Teen Titans where they summon all the champions—for KHIV and DOESN'T die here.

I did sort of want to do more with Sora and Kairi's friends (and I probably will in future stories), but there wasn't just enough time in this one. Though I am glad I got to give the Destiny Trio their dues, that the game didn't.

Anyway, thanks for reading.

-Shanna!

#sokai #this was originally a 'justice for kairi' fic of mine. and one that also had her and riku interacting in this khiii of mine

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xbellaxcarolinax · 4 years

Text

Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 10- Requests

Pairings: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count:

Warnings:

9- Conflicted

AN: This one's a little boring, sorry 😅

...

The axe glimmered in the light, shinning fiercely in a way that resembled the northern star. It was a thing of beauty, a foreign styled weapon held in the hands of a vengeful son. She knew it would soon drip the blood of the foreign kings.

It had taken a few days, just as she said it would, but it was worth all the time in the world to her. It was like a child she had to give away into uncaring hands. Leather strips were woven strategically around the wooden handle in the viking fashion, thanks to Arvid.

Artemis watched as Ivar's thumb grazes over the runes carved into the wood. He had it blessed by their own priests for battle as soon as he could.

The sun filtered through the branches perfectly, melting away the snow caught on the leaves. It was where the brothers had their training ground, and they were all determined to test run the axe. Ivar sat on the old tree stump, a haughty smile playing on his lips. It was an axe that any warrior would envy.

"I think he is quite impressed with your creation," Arvid says to her as they watched the brothers from a distance. Like children, they circle around Ivar to get a chance to glimpse at the weapon.

"The only good I've been able to do it seems." She mutters with a shrug, bringing her new fur cloak tighter around herself when the winds picked up speed.

"You know, you do not look like much of a slave." Arvid remarks, casting her a curious look. He was quick to notice the fine cloak she wore.

"No," She responds, "That is because I was never meant to be one." She says with such honesty, turning to glance up at him. Arvid's blue eyes clashed with her's in a playful battle. The young blacksmith had always treated her differently, and it didn't help that he was strikingly handsome. Artemis never thought she'd think of a northman as attractive, but it was something she could not deny, God help her.

"Artemis!" Ivar hisses her name, glaring at the pair with daggers for eyes. He called her over using the axe as if it had replaced his arm, "Come here!"

"Your master awaits," Arvid holds back a laugh when she rolls her eyes, slowly trudging through the melting snow. Ubbe and Hvitserk were smirking while Sigurd stood neutral, looking at her with stone like eyes.

"Yes, Prince Ivar." Somehow the snow had gotten into his hair, melting onto the brown stands that grew longer by the day. His eyes were a pretty pale blue that day, a sign the he wasn't in any particular pain. His brow was wrinkled in displeasure, and pink lips set in a pout. Artemis glanced at Ivar's lips before looking back into his eyes.

"You must have the first throw," He grunts, handing her the axe.

"The first throw, Prince?"

"Mhm," He hums, pointing towards the target placed high on the tree a few feet away from them, "You made it, you get the first throw." Hvitserk laughs at her expression as it was one of pure horror.

"Come now, Artemis, surely you can throw an axe?" Hvitserk taunts, and Ibbe laughs along with him.

"I can make them, but I was never trained to wield them." She responds, slightly embarrased. She knew some of the women in their culture were known as shieldmaidens, and that they were held in high regards. Generally, it seemed the women of the north had more liberties than the rest of the known world.

Artemis remembered watching her brother fight with father, makeshift training for any future defenses. But that was all she did. She watched and was never allowed to engage. It was one thing for a woman to work with metals, but something entirely different if she could fight. She would have never been married off, not that it mattered anymore.

"She is no shieldmaiden, Ivar," Sigurd says, though it came out more taunting than he wanted. He moves towards her to grab hold of the axe and she immediately takes a step away from him on instinct. Sigurd frowns, but took a step back as well, putting his hands up in defeat. Ivar watches their exchange but says nothing of it.

"No, she is no shieldmaiden, only a trickster with a foul mouth, like Loki," Ivar says as he watched Artemis hesitate, "A blacksmith should be more than qualified to fight in combat." She blinked at his words, frowning. Still, she doesn't move an inch to do what Ivar was asking of her.

"Let us see what you can do, Artemis," Ubbe says, stepping forward, placing a comforting hand to her shoulder, "Do not look so defeated, you are strong if you can manage the skill of a blacksmith."

Ubbe had always been the one to have words of comfort, which she was always grateful for, but those words had no affect at the moment. Artemis looks over at Ivar, who beckons her to continue. Suddenly the old tree stump he sat on made him look a pompous, smug king.

"Well? Go on." Artemis hesitated before looking down at the axe. She would make a fool of herself, she knew. It would be an embarrassment to her and her axe. The target was a distance away from them, how was she supposed to hurl it so far?

"Come Artemis! You are one of us now, go ahead!" Arvid calls from behind her, and she looks round just enough to catch a flash of his charming smile.

"Hurry up," Ivar growls, the young blacksmith's voice irritating him to no end. That was enough to push her, her irritation growing along side his. She let out an angry huff, and without thinking, she flung the heavy axe to its destination with both hands. Everyone was silent, watching in anticipating as to where the axe would land.

Her hands flew to her lips in shock, glancing down at Ivar who had a lopsided grin.

"Not exactly the target, but you struck the tree well enough." The axe was embedded into the tree about a few feet under the target. It wasn't too bad of a first throw, but it still caused an eruption of laughter from the brothers.

"Well done," Laughs Hvitserk, ruffling her hair, "You're on your way to becoming a shieldmaiden." They howled in laughter while Artemis stared at her feet in utter shame.

"Come now, none of that," Ivar says to her with that damned smile, "Go on and fetch the axe." He pats her lower back, encouraging her to move forward. Her hands were balled into fists by the time she reached the axe, and she used all her strength to pry it out from the strong wood. She brought it back to Ivar who took it easily from her hands.

"Watch." He tells her, and with such ease he hurls the axe into the air with a fierce velocity, and in a few seconds the blade was embedded into the middle of the target. The force cracked it slightly, making it hang off the tree before breaking and falling to the ground.

Artemis's eyes grew wide in awe, and she turns to look at Ivar, only to see he was already watching her, a smirk in place.

"And that is the axe that will conquer the world."

...

It was a light snowfall when Floki found her. She was a small figure in black, hood raised with no way of identifying her person, but he knew it was her. That was Ivar's cloak she was wearing, he'd seen it a million times before. A woven basket hung from her arm, with a collection of fabrics and threadings from only the finest seamstress in Kattegat.

There was something different about her, Floki noticed, as he followed her down towards the bustling market. It might have been her physical appearance, as she did not look entirely beaten down and disheveled as before. She did not seem entirely happy, that was evident, but not entirely sad either. She walked without the fear she once had, weaving her way through the market as if she's lived there her entire life.

She stops at the fish stall, looking down towards the array of sea creatures inbedded in mounds of salt for sale.

"Christian." Floki's voice was easily recognizable. She whips her head to look at him, surprised with his approach. He wasn't seen often in the city, preferring to keep to himself on the outskirts of Kattegat.

"The people speak of your abilities." He continues and Artemis almost snorts in response. He was making her sound like a shaman.

"And what have you heard?" She asks, raking her eyes over his form. He had many furs about his shoulders, giving him the appearance of a large yet lanky wolf. All that did nothing to hide the sadness in his eyes.

"They say you are a blacksmith," His tone was nothing she'd heard before, "Is it true?"

"It is."

"It is also said you can craft jewels." Artemis eyes Floki curiously.

"Is there something you wish to ask me?"

She never liked being around him for too long, not that she sees him often enough, but he was interrupting her work with small talk, and she had to return to Edda with the fabrics and fish before she was repeimanded.

"I wish to gift Helga with jewels." Floki says, looking out towards the northern seas that lapped at Kattegat's shores to avoid her eyes. Artemis hums in response, alerting the fisherman of the fishes she would be purchasing. She says nothing, watching the fisherman pack them while Floki fumed beside her.

"Did you hear me, Christian?"

"I did," She responds, "Though I wonder how this involves me." Floki huffs out an irritated breath. She knew what he was asking, but she wanted him to say it, which did not please him.

"I want you to make a necklace for her." Floki's black rimmed eyes stare down at her. His pride was hurt somehow, to be asking a slave, let alone a Christian, for a favor.

"A necklace?" Artemis snorts as quietly as she could, careful not to let out a laugh that threatened to slip past her lips.

"Helga worries me these days. She has grown a fondness for a little girl from the Morrish country, but I fear she is losing herself with this child. Tanaruz, she has a hatred for us that my wife refuses to see." Whoever the girl was, Artemis didn't blame her. She has felt the same feelings of hatred herself.

"And Helga misses you dearly," Floki grunts, scratching his head, "I fear I have made her upset by not allowing you to visit and the little patience I have for the child."

"So you wish to seek forgiveness with jewels?"

Jewels were indeed beautiful. What woman would not want to be draped in luxury? But Helga seemed like the type of woman who would not be easily swayed by jewels.

"I wish to see her happy, Christian, now can you do this or not?" Artemis thanked the fisherman, handing him a gold coin before placing the bagged fish in her basket.

"You may visit Helga in our home if you please." He adds reluctantly. She gives him a side glance, pulling the basket comfortably over the crease of her arm before nodding.

"Very well. I will do this for Helga, but only if Prince Ivar allows it."

"I shall speak with him. I will accompany you to their cabin." Her brows knit in confusion, but she walked beside him silently, letting the flurries of snow lightly melt against her cheeks and lashes.

"You remind me of someone," Floki speaks after a while, "An old friend of Ragnar's."

"Oh?"

Was that for her to take as a compliment?

"He was a priest taken on our very first raid in England. He was Ragnar's slave."

"How lovely," She mutters, "I suppose you weren't fond of him either, this Christian priest?"

"Of course not, " Floki scoffs, "He had nothing to offer us but to misguide and to stray our king away from the ways of our gods."

"Is that what you think I will do? Misguide the prince and your people?" Artemis shakes her head, "I've no interest in teaching any of you of my God." She wished the cabin could be closer so that their conversation may end. How ill her luck was, to be subjected to such useless talk.

"Perhaps," Floki shrugs, looking up towards the gray skies. His hair blew with the winds, causing him to appear a mad man, but that was not far from the truth, "But this priest was patient, just as you are, and infuriatingly kind. Such a pious man, with his Christian ways. Ragnar freed him, and he assimilated into our society quiet well. He chose the faith of our gods, but I always knew he was not true to it."

"What was his name?" Artemis asks out of curiosity.

"A very Saxon name. Athelstan." Floki says his name with a sigh. Perhaps it reminded him of Ragnar.

"What happened to him?" The cabin was finally in sight and Artemis mentally cheered, rubbing her hands together in an attempt to warm them.

"A most unfortunate death I'm afraid," When Artemis finally turns to look at him he let's out a manic giggle before continuing.

"I killed him."

Floki opens the door of the cabin and enters without hesitation, leaving Artemis dumbfounded out in the snow.

...

@didiintheblog @heavenly1927

#ivarxofc #ivarfanfiction #ivar imagine #ivar lothbrok #ivar #vikings ivar #vikings #vikings ubbe #ubbe #hvitserk #sigurd #floki #ivar the boneless #alex hogh andersen

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solia-dreams · 6 years

Text

White Noise, part 2

I accidentally slipped and wrote another Kylo X Rey fic today to complement yesterday’s (find it here: http://six-impossiblethings.tumblr.com/post/168995463107/white-noise)

---

He shouldn’t have touched her hand.

Months passed and he tried not to think of her, not as he took his place as the new Supreme Leader in Snoke’s guilt-ridden absence, not as he found himself quietly locked in political power struggles behind the scenes of his once loud and audacious First Order, rebuilding it from the ground up after the miserable defeat he’d led them into, not as he learned to govern a whole military and political movement he’d never anticipated the reality of. He tried not to think of her as General Hux made snide remarks across the audience chamber about his failures, with her, with Skywalker, with Crait, and he tried not to think of her as his personal guard was appointed and donned their red Praetorian costumes for the first time, each of them unaware that he’d personally killed most of their predecessors. With her.

“We’re with you, Supreme Leader,” the chief said, and they took up sentinel positions outside his bedchamber.

When he kept busy, which wasn’t hard, he succeeded in forgetting her. She would be in hiding, recovering along with her precious, shattered Rebellion, just as he and the First Order were. The ceasefire was unspoken, shaky, necessary, neither side strong enough yet to lash out at the other, no matter how badly they might like to be able to make the first move, and the galaxy they’d fought over waited breathlessly on the sidelines, content to largely govern themselves until one finally rose from the ashes to defeat the other or otherwise win the allegiance of the known systems.

When he ran out of productive distractions, that was when he felt it – their connection, forged by Snoke but unexpectedly unbroken by his master’s death, even when all other hints of his dark sorcery dissolved. He couldn’t explain it but neither was there anybody to ask. Unlike the first apparitions, he no longer saw her in full or held conversations with her, locked together in a muffled mind palace that blocked out his other senses. Locked with her in endless white noise. He was actively avoiding thinking of her now, and distinctly felt she was doing the same, far away somewhere, and he didn’t expect her to stumble into his mind again now that Snoke wasn’t pushing matters. Instead, it was hints, allusions, a suggestion he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, directly deal with. It was the vaguest scent caught on the air when he zoned out of his Generals’ dull reports about the reconstruction of the fleet – gone as soon as he inhaled deeper for it, startled back to attention. It was a glance between rows of unmasked officers during a training demonstration. It was another’s audible breathing, in time with his, softer, when he was alone with his thoughts, though nobody else could be seen or found. It was a spark of blue off his lightsaber as he threw himself into relentless training with his new guards, a glimmer of an outstretched hand in the corner of a holo-update, the flash of rough, pale fabric around a corner up ahead in a long sleek hallway. It was a pull when he slouched unseen in his undeserved throne between audiences, a disconcerting whisper against the silence of ruling a galaxy alone.

It was temptation. Snoke’s teachings had warned him of this: the light side of the Force, tugging on his soul, baiting him with what it knew he couldn’t resist.

Worst was when he slept. When he dreamed and had little control of where his mind strayed. And stray it did. Confused, conflicted feelings of anger, hatred, jealousy, craving, awe, hurt and curious captivation swirled unchecked inside him, taking unsettling shapes in his subconscious, playing out imaginary scenarios that varied in impropriety and stupidity, ensuring he woke most nights breathless and furious with himself.

In his dreams, his memories and desires and fears coalesced murkily. He found himself in battle with her over and over, in the throne room, in the snow, in the interrogation room where he’d first shown her his face. Sometimes he won. He wanted to kill Rey from Jakku for what she meant to the Rebellion, to all the people he’d loved, to him. In those dreams he played out his desire to hurt her, to throw his untempered jealousy on her like a weight, to see those hazel eyes shine with terror like they did in the forest as he overwhelmed her and brought her to a knee, or right to the ground on her back, and put his saber through her chest. Always through the heart, unless he broke her by smashing her through a tree or a wall or column. Her hair was always pulled back from her face and he never took her head; though he bore down with all his might on the face that plagued him, he could never repay her in kind for marking him in the forest after he’d killed his father. He came down on her with his searing red blade over and over, and he called her nothing over and over, and he pierced her heart over and over, and she screamed and cried and pleaded and apologised and crumpled and tears spilled from those eyes he could not forget until the sparkle went out in them, over and over again, but it was not enough to assuage the hatred he felt for her. There was no satisfaction to be gained in defeating her.

Other times, he lost. These dreams left him just as hollow and disappointed. He fought with all he had but in these dreams, it was not enough, and she took him down. She was untouchable, unreachable, far from the nobody he’d accused her of being, and she was so much more than he, pure in the Force and quick and lithe and better. Her moves were graceful, guided by the will of the Force, her reactions intuitive, moving before he could think, always out of the swing of his weapon. She found him lacking at every turn, as his father had, as his mother had, as his uncle had, as his master had, and that only made him more desperate, more determined to impress her, but she shamed him with her saintly perfection. She wounded him, she exhausted him, she chastened him. Sometimes he believed in the dreams that she was toying with him, but he knew it wasn’t in her nature and it was his own insecurities whispering in his ear; mostly, she was efficient in her execution. He was not worth her time. Every time, her eyes were cool and sharp, her mind made up, as she sidestepped a move he’d carelessly telegraphed and stabbed her lightsaber through him. She went for the heart, too. She didn’t care about him, not in these dreams, and he woke from them upset and unsettled, convinced even more deeply of his own inadequacy.

Then there were the dreams that were more memory than fancy, where something inside him snapped and he suddenly resolved to do what he’d never thought he’d be strong enough to do, where he raised his lightsaber to her terrified face but turned the wrist of his other hand, disguising his true intentions so he could destroy the Supreme Leader whose voice had poisoned his mind since his earliest memory. Where her wide bright eyes met his unwaveringly as she pushed herself to her feet before him, the same eyes that had looked earnestly into his just minutes earlier in the elevator as she insisted he could turn to the light and “I’ll help you”, where she nodded in frightened determination – where he had known that she really meant what she said, that she believed in his strength and power, that she admired him and trusted him. In the dreams where he battled the Praetorian guards with Rey, he was on fire, magnificent, powerful, worthy of his lineage and more than the sum of his failures. He was somebody with her.

He woke from these dreams unsure, even more unsure than he did from the fantasy ones, because the reality had the potential to be much more alarming. He had struggled with the Force for so long, having felt it in his blood all his life but falling from one extreme to the other, and on that day he’d just let go – let it all in, light, dark, all of it, and let it guide him to use it. And it had guided him into an alliance with the most dangerous person he knew, the scavenger rebel who knew nothing of her own appeal and power, which should have made him wary if he were any less arrogant, but instead it had felt right, and worse: it had felt like Not Alone.

It was short-lived, the warmth of Not Alone. Inevitably the final guard wrestled him into a dangerous headlock and she threw him the lightsaber that should always have been his, and it struck true as willed by the Force that ran through him like water, that ran through her like water, and he stood to see the truth of what he’d done to Snoke and the opportunity left open for them, the will of the vision shown to him when he touched her hand, and he extended his hand for her in turn, but she shut down and clung to the past and all its mistakes, and she disappointed him.

The dreams were invariably violent, but not always in the form of a battle. There were dreams of chasing her, either on foot or in his customised TIE fighter, in which he swelled with fury the longer it took to find her. She ducked and dodged and he could hear her heartbeat thudding like a tiny creature of prey, and when he caught her and dragged her out by her hair or crippled her ship – his father’s damn ship – she twisted and cried and kicked and kept trying to limp away, until she realised she couldn’t, then became unreasonable, unbending to him even in her downfall. She appealed to him. When he screamed at her she just took it, refused to scream back, refused to accept him or his words for fact. He pushed her, threw her, crushed her, threatened her, but she only ever fought him and told him he was wrong.

“Why did you hate your father?”

Her voice made him feel small, weak with the realisation that she was pure and dainty and kind and sweet and he was a bully, for that was what it was to derive a sense of supremacy from making someone else feel less than what they were, and a beast, for that was what it was to kill a father who loved you, who you loved. Her voice, her words, loaded with pain he’d inflicted – he hated her for the shame she filled him with, and hated the power she had to make him feel that way. At the same time, ashamedly, her voice left him longing, childishly eager to hear it again, for her to bestow her words upon him like he was worth the breath. When she sneered her words of raw anger, straight out of her wounded soul unfiltered, unchecked, they were just for him, directed at him alone, like he was all that existed. Listening to her yell and cry and argue could have sustained him in this way perfectly well, but then he’d learned what it was to listen to her talk… just talk. Which she’d done, softly, honestly, openly, in her funny accent, wrapped in a towel to dry off after an accidental dip in the sea some million million lightyears away on Luke Skywalker’s hidden island home, unforgettable eyes glinting with a fire he couldn’t see through their Force bond. She had no one else, no one else like her, so she’d simply let him listen while she sorted through her confusing experiences out loud, omitting nothing, divulging everything like she had nothing to hide. Letting him in. Innocently trusting him with her hurts. Speaking the truth because it’s all she knew, un-self-consciously uttering facts that he’d never truly realised before – that he wasn’t alone, even when he might have thought he was.

Things no one else had ever bothered to realise, not even himself, but which had always been true. Snoke’s voice had been in his thoughts since childhood, maybe earlier. His choices had not been entirely his own. His path had been tampered with. His life had been derailed without his knowledge, without his parents’ knowledge, without his uncle’s. How had she known?

Indulging in reflections of what she’d truly meant with her words led him into spirals of uncertainty, for what kind of Dark Knight cares what trickery or dishonest means brought him to his righteous path of the dark side, so long as he arrived? What Supreme Leader needs a scavenger girl to point out glaringly obvious truths about himself that he can’t find on his own?

“I’ll help you…”

Rey meant every word she said, he knew, and in her own way, she did want to help, but she was a child by comparison to him, in almost every way. She knew so little, about the Force, about love and hate, about the galaxy, about the way of things, about him. Basically everyone else in his life knew more about most things that she did. Yet she’d offered her hand, unbidden, across their Force bond, barely days after trying to shoot him with a blaster in the same manner, proving that while she might never accept him as he was, might always insist on trying to change him, she understood him. She saw him.

And she didn’t turn away.

And he shouldn’t have been so naïve as to believe the silly hopes of what remained of his innocent heart, but he desired that too completely, and in his unguarded moments, waking and dreaming, he was haunted by her eyes, seeing him, understanding what he was, wanting him on her side.

Their fingertips touching impossibly through space and time.

The shock of electricity shared between them. The Force, untempered, wild and eerie.

The intensity of her vulnerable gaze. Not nobody. Rey. Or were they one and the same, indistinguishable? Which one was it in the dreams where her eyes smouldered a singed hole through his skin into his soul and made his breaths sharper, quicker? Who did he imagine would scrape her nails across his chest and moan his name into his mouth?

Her hands wound in his hair…

Her teeth on his shoulder…

Her distinctive voice in his ear, ever earnest.

Tonight, it was one of these dreams.

“I know everything I need to know about you,” she murmured, hands sliding up the arms that braced him over her up to his shoulders. Eyes sparkling, dangerously tempting in the beautiful, symmetrical face he’d been unable to scar. Her voice sent a quiver of longing through him, and he bent his head to reach her, but she never made anything easy for him. She tightened her fingers on his collarbone and locked her elbows, keeping him away. “Ben…”

That little smile he’d more imagined than witnessed.

He exhaled. “Please.”

And she gave in to him.

Kylo Ren gasped awake and pushed himself up off his mattress, which just a moment ago had been her smooth body laid out beneath him, and his pillow, which a moment ago had been her shapely mouth, every bit as deliciously soft and responsive as he’d wondered when he’d looked down upon her. He kicked his blankets away and rolled himself into an upright position, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, flicking his forefingers carelessly as he drew his hand away. Dormant torches along the walls burst alight with fresh flames as his suggestion, settling quickly into a quiet burn that illuminated the space without overly brightening it. This huge room he now called his bedchamber had been built for Snoke, he knew, but the Supreme Leader had not lived to see it before the First Order had been forced to flee here to this incomplete flagship. He looked around it now, from the oversized bed (thankfully not containing anyone else despite the inclination of the dream, though he could comfortably fit quite a few playmates in here with him if he chose) to the cabinet of priceless treasures and arts gathered or stolen from across the galaxy, to the table at his bedside where his lightsaber and mask lay at arm’s reach, and between it all, the huge matted space that was his personal training area. He could see nothing out of place, no sign of disturbance, no indication of another presence.

He was alert now, so there would be no flicker of pale at the edge of his vision, no murmur, no soft hint of her scent. But he still gathered his knees against his chest and breathed deep and slow until he had himself under control, and listened, and looked, and waited, just in case.

He was pathetic.

He lowered his face into his knees with a groan, feeling sick. Who was he? Thousands of men and women and non-specifics looked to him as their Supreme Leader, Force-wielder, defeater of Jedi and the Republic, but the Kylo Ren of his dreams was variably a vicious murderer, a failure, a tyrant and a traitor. He ran his hands backwards through his overgrown hair and scrunched them into fists, grounding himself in the discomfort and pain of the pull. This had to stop. She was nothing. He was the Supreme Leader. The people she’d become something to in his place were dying off quickly enough. These psychotic dreams of slaughtering, fucking, losing to, torturing, wanting his greatest enemy, Luke’s perfect apprentice, Han’s perfect daughter, Leia’s perfect freedom fighter, they weren’t becoming of a man claiming a galaxy for his own.

As much as he hated her, he would hate more to admit that he wished he was her and ached for her admiration and respect. He wanted to kill her as much as he wanted her to trust him and follow him and give more of her perfect, pure self to him, selfish and greedy and fascinated as he was. He wanted to rip her perfect purity right out of her and pull her down to his level where he could sneer at her and say see, you’re nothing, no better than me, but at the same time, he wanted her to fight that bit harder and overcome him and prove him wrong, because what would he have left to strive after if she were not out there in the galaxy? As much as he wanted to crush life out of her, he wanted to feel life with her, as he had when they fought together, the Force binding them as a single, beautiful thing, completely in tune with one another’s movements, an ethereal tension akin to magnetism working them like crafted dolls on the same string to bring about the Force’s will. He’d been one with her, connected, known, seen, understood. Whole.

He had never been whole before.

So it had cut all the deeper when she’d refused him.

She was his equal, Snoke had said. Yet while he was a prince, a leader, privileged and praised, she was a scavenger, nobody, downtrodden and oppressed. And he still wanted her. The idea of possessing her, either by destroying her or capturing her or turning her, was not an alien one to him, but these dreams of intimacy with her? He cringed. Metaphors, he told himself, allusions to the dangerous game of power playing out between them. Jealousy. Anger. Inadequacy. Frustration. Pain. Hurt. Lust. Competition.

He wasn’t worthy of Snoke’s tutelage. He saw that now. Whether the hand of the Force trying to tempt him back to the light or of Rey herself, he still made the same mistakes night after night.

So it surprised him that his former master never returned to him, either from behind a shadow to reveal he was never defeated or from beyond the horizon of death, to taunt him, to berate him for his betrayal, to punish him. Many great masters of the Force had avoided death or, worse, found their way back to the world of the living to commune with those with whom they had unfinished business, and Snoke had plenty with his traitorous, unstable apprentice, but he never came to see it out. No more screams about his consistent failings. No electric shocks. No unexpected shoves from great heights.

The Supreme Leader Snoke had toyed with Ben Solo’s heart and mind since infancy from across a galaxy of stars and systems. He had turned the boy who would have been the Jedi prince of the known worlds into Kylo Ren, mighty descendant of Darth Vader. He had raised the First Order from the ashes of the Empire.

And he was dead.

He had killed his master, completing the final ritual of the darkness.

Snoke’s absence didn’t make him feel understood or connected or known or seen – rather, it added to the swell of absence he already felt in his life, especially after his soul-wrenching act against his father – but it did make him feel in control, powerful, dangerous.

Like a Sith.

He lowered his feet from the bed and stood, reaching for his lightsaber. Loyally, it flew to his open hand as he walked to the middle of his flame-lit training area. A vague wave of his fingers and holographic soldiers appeared, waiting to be slaughtered, though they always put up a good fight.

“Long live the Supreme Leader,” he muttered firmly, igniting the saber.

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You can find me on FF and AO3 as Solia, or Instagram as Six.Impossible.Things :)

#reylo #reylo trash #tlj fanfic #tlj spoilers #kylo ren

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